


Moon Song

by rickyisms



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Compulsory Heterosexuality, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Mild Sexual Content, Sexual exploration, Tango/Ford is not endgame, ford is overworked but her friends love her more than anything else anywah, platonic intimacy, song fic but only a little bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:08:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29817855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rickyisms/pseuds/rickyisms
Summary: Ford spends a lot of time thinking about other people, she worries about what they need, what they want, and how she can get it for them. It's just part of the job. Sure, she's exhausted and she doesn't know what she wants at all, but it's not that bad is it?___A love letter to doing theatre even though you hate it, colour coding your google calendar, hockey, college, your friends, an trying to figure out what the hell is going on in you're own brain
Relationships: Denice "Foxtrot" Ford & Tony "Tango" Tangredi & Connor "Whiskey" Whisk, Denice "Foxtrot" Ford/ OFC, Denice "Foxtrot" Ford/Tony "Tango" Tangredi
Comments: 12
Kudos: 20





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here is the Ford fic that I have been promising for ages. It didn't turn out exactly how I planned for it to, but I like it anyway. The characters are messy and complicated, but I hope it's worth reading anyway

_You asked to walk me home_

_But I had to carry you_

_And you pushed me in_

_And now my feet can’t touch the bottom of you_

* * *

“You’re so busy, it’s insane,” Tango says one day when the three of them are hanging out at the Lake Quad. 

It’s sunny and warm so they’re just sitting in the grass with their textbooks spread out in front of them. Ford has her planner sitting on her lap, pen tucked behind her ear, highlighter in her hand. She looks down at it, there aren’t any days without anything written in them. It might be a little bit much, but she can handle it, she handles things. 

“It’s the beginning of the show season, so I’m putting in more hours than usual just to get ready.”

“It’s criminal that you don’t get paid for that shit,” Whiskey says, looking up from his phone. 

“Well you know, I like to be busy,” Ford says. 

“What show are you doing?” Tango asks. It’s the kind of question that only Tango asks because only Tango really cares. The rest of the team will come to the show and they’ll bring her lunch during tech week, but Tango goes home and reads the Wikipedia page of whatever show she’s working on so he can have an actual conversation with her about it. 

“We’re not sure yet,” Ford says, “We’re between Footloose and Fun Home right now. It’ll come down to whatever we can get the rights to.”

“Is getting rights hard?”

“Sometimes,” Ford says, she twirls her highlighter in her hand and sighs, “and then we have the straight plays to think about.”

“What’s a straight play?” Tango asks. 

“A play that doesn’t disappoint my parents, obviously,” Whiskey quips. 

Ford rolls her eyes, the back of her neck gets hot and she ignores him. 

“It’s a play without singing,” Ford answers. 

“Oh,” Tango says. 

“We do some student work. I might direct one this year, but I’m not sure.”

“That’s cool,” Whiskey says, “How different can herding actors be from herding hockey players.”

Ford laughs, relaxes back into the grass and sighs. Her planner stares at her, so full of things to do, and the season hasn’t even started yet. 

Ford walks into the theatre building later that day.

“We got Fun Home!” Daniel is waving a script. 

“Oh my gosh!” Ford says, “Fuckin’ rights.”

“Were you hanging out with the hockey team again,” Daniel rolls his eyes. 

“What, how did you know?”

“You talk like them,” Daniel makes a big exaggerated show of rolling his eyes and then he throws his arm around her, “So are you stage managing for me, sweetheart,” he says. 

Ford thinks about the season and her classes and her already overflowing list of commitments and she says yes anyway. 

Ford has to sprint across campus to make it in time for SMH's practice that night.

“Kegster tonight my friends,” Louis is shouting it after practice. 

Ford almost fell asleep in the stands watching Murray and Hall take them through the same skating drill over and over again. She stayed awake thanks to a can of redbull poured into a travel coffee mug. She’s found that she avoids the worried glances if she hides her energy drink consumption this early in the morning. 

There’s not much for her to do during practice, but she likes to be there in case something goes wrong. It’s an early morning, but she gets to hang out with Whiskey and Tango afterwards. 

“Ford! Invite your theatre friends!” Hops says. 

“Ah, not this time,” Ford says. As a rule, her theatre friends and her hockey team friends don’t hang out. 

She walks through the locker room, catching the practice jerseys that the boys throw into the hamper. Tango always places his right into her arms. While the boys finish taking off their equipment, Ford starts the first load of laundry. 

“You wanna grab coffee?” Whiskey pokes his head into the laundry room, “It’s on me today,” he smiles like an idiot on purpose. 

“I have work to do,” she says, “I was just going to stay here and study while I do laundry.”

“We’ll deliver,” Whiskey says. 

“Tango knows my order,” Ford says. 

She finishes the last sips of her redbull knowing the coffee is coming. Then she takes her bag off of her back and sets her things on the floor. She has at least half an hour before the laundry has to be changed so she opens her notebook and the copy of the play they have to read for class this week. 

She yawns. The team hasn’t even played their first game and she’s already this tired. She’ll find a way to fix it. She always fixes it. She reads enough of the play that she won’t be caught off guard in her lecture if she gets asked a question, but not so much that she actually understands what’s going on. 

In between typing up her notes and starting on her next reading, the washing machine stops and she moves half the jerseys into the dryer and throws the other half into the wash. She sits on the floor when she studies, likes to be able to spread out and see everything.

“Knock knock,” Tango announces his presence. 

He’s holding a large coffee with 2 sugars and a splash of milk. She can smell it from where she’s sitting. She holds her hands out and Tango hands it over. 

She takes a massive gulp. 

“Where’s Whiskey?”

“Chad’s,” Tango answers, “He says they’re studying but I don’t buy it.”

“Isn’t Chad a film major?” Ford turns her head to the side 

“That’s Chad S. apparently Chad L. is in his finance class.”

“Huh,” Ford says and takes another sip. 

“What are you working on?”

“Readings,” Ford says. 

“What are they about?”

“This one’s about on stage semiotics and the other one is about women in greek theatre… I think I only skimmed.”

“Neat!” Tango says. 

Ford yawns again, her eyes are heavy from being up this early. 

“You should take a nap or something before the kegster,” Tango says. 

Ford shakes her head, “I have a creative team meeting after lunch.”

“How much sleep _did_ you get last night.”

She does the math in her head. She got back from class at 8, had dinner, went to a creative team meeting until midnight, then got home a little bit after that. She stayed up until 2 to finish writing a discussion post assignment and to console one of the freshmen in the Drama Club who got broken up with. Practice started at 6 so she was up by 5… and yeah. Not enough sleep. 

“Enough,” she answers. 

“Okay,” Tango says. 

He sits on top of the dryer. It stops making the clunking noise that Ford hates and she smiles up at him. He smiles proudly. 

“Do you have anything to do?” Ford asks. 

“I’m supposed to swing by the Stop n’Shop before the kegster,” Tango says, “Other than that, it’s a lazy Saturday.”

Ford nods. 

~

The creative team meeting is a disaster. Daniel has big ideas that Ford keeps trying to explain can’t happen because of things like the budget and the timeline and the actual laws of fucking physics. She’s exhausted by the end of it and they barely got anything done. She has concealer at home, she’ll touch it up before the party so the eyebags aren’t as pronounced. 

When she walked into the drama building it had still been sunny and light outside. It’s pitch black now. It’s a little bit jarring. She holds her bag a little bit tighter. 

“Daniel’s such a dick,” she hears someone say. 

She jumps and turns around. 

“Shit sorry, didn’t realize you couldn’t see me.”

She had been sitting in the theatre while Daniel droned on and on about the potential for what he called ‘blacklight experiential theatre.’ Ford’s never seen her around before. 

“Yeah, he is,” Ford agrees. 

“It’s Fun Home, dude, just get three striped t-shirts and a couple dykes and you’ve got a show.”

Ford recoils at the word. Not necessarily offended, just surprised. 

“I’m allowed to say it,” the girl says, “But if it makes you uncomfortable I won’t say it around you,” she says. 

“Oh,” Ford says, “No it’s okay, I was just surprised is all.”

The girl is taller than her, which isn’t hard to do, but she also seems to take up more space just with the way she stands. She’s wearing a pair of faded jeans with paint stains on them and a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. She’s unquestionably cool. Ford notices for the first time that she’s also holding a cigarette, which explains why she was just standing here. 

The girl notices Ford’s gaze falling on the cigarette, held between two fingers. She holds it up and shrugs. 

“Daniel, am I right? Drives us all to our vices.”

Ford laughs, she wonders if she has any vices and if the president of the drama club can drive her to them. 

The girl takes a drag of her cigarette, careful to blow it away from Ford. With her free hand, she runs her fingers through short cropped blonde hair, Ford watches every move. 

“What did you say your name was again?” Ford asks, “I’m sorry, I’ve just never seen you around. What year are you in?”

“I’m Sage, a senior,” the girl says, “I don’t think we were on the same show when you were a freshman, and then I did study abroad last year. I was in Greece while you guys did Grease,” she laughs at her own joke. 

Ford laughs at it too. 

Sage drops the end of her cigarette and puts it out with the toe of her converse. She bends over and picks up the butt and places it back in her pack which is half full of unsmoked cigarettes and half full of butts. 

“It’s gross but less gross than littering,” Sage says.

“Yeah, I guess,” Ford says. 

“You wanna hang out, bitch about Daniel some more, or are you busy?”

“I’m kinda busy,” Ford says, “Sorry, another time though,” she says. 

“Should’ve guessed you’d be busy, that’s kinda your thing, huh?”

“Oh, yeah. I guess,” Ford says. 

She feels bad that she had no idea who Sage was, but that Sage knows enough about her to know how unforgiving her schedule is. 

“Cups have arrived!” Tango shouts, barging through the front door of the Haus. 

Ford is in the kitchen with Dex putting cookies onto plates and chips into bowls. 

Tango throws a sleeve of red solo cups at Dex. Dex catches them in one hand. Ford smiles absently. 

“Who wants shots!” Louis is walking into the kitchen with a bottle of some kind of clear liquid. 

“We don’t have shot glasses,” Dex points out. 

“Just take a swig, apparently this stuff messes you up.”

“This isn’t going to be like the time you gave Nursey crushed up baby aspirin, right?” Dex asks. 

“Or the time Hops smoked oregano?”

“Or the time you gave Bitty adderall and he cleaned the kitchen and then did his homework, actually scratch that one, that one was probably for the best.”

“No this is legit,” Louis says, “C’mon, Bully’s being a baby and won’t try it.”

Tango takes the bottle out of Louis’ hand, “Holy shit dude, is this even legal, 97%? We’re gonna go blind.”

“Just take like a little sip, you’ll feel it, trust.” 

So Tango uncaps the bottle and he takes the world's smallest sip and hands the bottle back while he gags. Ford looks around to find something for him to chase it with and lands on her half drunk can of redbull. 

She hands it to him and gulps down a sip. He looks at the can, and then up at Ford, “Long day?” he asks. 

Ford nods. 

She takes an admittedly too big sip of Louis’ booze. It tastes like nail polish remover and burns like an entire bottle of tequila. She washes it down with the rest of her redbull and stifles a cough. 

“Woah,” Louis says, “Good luck with that.”

The music is bumping and loud and Ford feels good surrounded by a whole bunch of people, no one’s asking her for anything which is a welcome change of pace. She feels a little bit floaty and slightly off balance as she walks through the living room. They push the couch against the wall and hide the TV in Dex’s room whenever they throw parties, it had been her idea in sophomore year after Jack had replaced the second TV in as many months. 

She’s not thinking about that right now. She’s thinking about how crowded the floor is, and what the best route to the tub juice that’s on the front porch is going to be. She’s halfway across the floor, weaving through the volleyball team and a couple of cheerleaders and she’s almost at the door and then she runs into someone’s shoulder. 

She looks up and it’s Tango, and he looks surprised and apologetic. 

“Fuck, sorry, are you okay?” he asks. 

Ford nods

“Wanted another drink,” she says with a smile. 

“Oh fuck yeah,” Tango says, “Me too, I think Louis actually put enough sprite in it this time that it won’t kill us.”

“Thank god,” Ford says. 

She follows Tango out the front door. There are a few kids on the porch, she can smell weed and mango juul pods coming from a couple of the lacrosse guys. 

Ford dips her cup in the cooler of tub juice, careful to avoid the floating sour patch kids. She knows she’ll regret it when her alarm goes off in the morning, but for now she doesn’t have to think about that. 

Tango leans against the railing and Ford perches next to him. She takes a sip of the drink and scrunches up her nose. 

“Not bad,” she says.

“You seen Whiskey?” Tango asks. 

Ford shakes her head, “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“I’ll bet he’s with Chad.”

“So they’re on again, then?” Ford says. 

If Whiskey was here he’d get all bitchy about her making fun of him and his “not a relationship.” Tango just laughs because he’s on Ford’s side about Chad not being good for Whiskey. 

“He’ll meet us at Annie’s tomorrow,” Tango says, “I’m sure we’ll get deets.”

“I might have to dip on Annie’s,” Ford says, takes a sip of her drink to avoid follow-up questions. 

“That’s cool. Why?”

“I have to read the play we’re doing and come up with notes and concepts and budget stuff and that’ll take most of the morning.”

“Isn’t that like… kind of a lot. I can’t remember the last time you took a day off.”

Ford shrugs, “You know me. Always busy. Besides, this is my break,” she grins and hops down from the railing.

She’s drunk enough that she doesn’t taste the last sips of tub juice as they slide down her throat. Tango raises his eyebrows when she refills her cup on the way inside, but he doesn’t say anything.

She dances in the middle of the living room with Nursey and Hops. Hops can dance, Nursey cannot, but Nursey makes up for it by screaming along to whatever song is up on Louis’ playlist. Right now it’s _Good Old Fashioned Loverboy_ by Queen and Nursey is looking up at the ceiling and shouting, “Hey Boy!” And Ford can’t contain her laughter. 

Her feet are sore and she’s tired, she’s been awake for nearly 24 hours, but she doesn’t notice because she’s still floaty and Hops is grabbing her hand and spinning her around him and she’s laughing even harder. She sobers up a little bit on the dancefloor, but not enough that she crashes or anything. 

She notices Dex walking into the kitchen holding an empty chip bowl and she removes herself from the dance circle and stumbles in behind him. 

“Lemme help you,” she says and she lurches forward just a little but, but she catches herself before she looks messy. 

She smiles wide and Dex doesn’t notice the stumble. He hands her a bowl. 

“I was just gonna start cleaning up.”

“Okay, I’ll see if I can find some more empty bowls” Ford says. 

She moves quickly through the crowd of people. It’s thinning out, slowly but surely. 

She sees Tango leaning against a wall, a pretty blonde girl is next to him. That’s nice for him. She’s wearing a tube top and a jean skirt and long black boots that go up almost her entire leg. She’s looking at Tango intently, smiling at whatever he’s saying. Tango’s head turn and he’s not looking at the girl anymore, he’s looking right at Ford. He puts his hand on the girl’s shoulder and excuses himself. 

“Are you good?” He asks. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I dunno, you look kinda tired.”

“It’s just real late,” Ford says, “Dex was gonna start tidying, I’m grabbing the bowls and stuff,” she says. 

“Why don’t you sit down for a second,” Tango says. 

Ford doesn’t know why she’s so concerned, and then she takes a step forward and _woah_ when did stuff get blurry? When did she start squinting? When did her arms start feeling so heavy. 

“But the bowls,” Ford says. 

“I’ll grab them, you just sit down for a minute.”

Tango’s got his hand on her shoulder, a firm grip on her so she doesn’t topple over. He guides her over to the couch and she doesn’t try to fight it. Tango’s hands are warm and strong and firm. He gets her to sit down on the couch and she doesn’t even complain about how gross it is. 

“Just chill for a while.”

It’s still loud, the music is still blasting, but it fades away until her eyes are closed. She can still hear some of the things happening around her. She hears some swearing, some laughing. She hears the music get quieter and someone shouting from the porch. She rests her head against the arm of the couch and feels herself falling away from the noise, she sinks into it, she can’t help it. 

The next time her eyes open, the lights are on in the living room and she can smell lysol wipes. Her head is too heavy to lift off the couch but she can’s see anyone in front of her. 

“Is someone gonna wake up Ford?” it’s Chowder’s voice. She can’t find the words to tell him she’s awake. 

“I’ll get her,” Tango says quietly. 

She’s expecting to feel his hand on her shoulder, maybe hear his voice telling her it’s time to get up. Instead he sweeps his arms under her body and hoists her up so he’s carrying her like an overtired six year old. He has one hand under her legs and the other on her back. She doesn’t resist as he readjusts and she rests her head on his shoulder. He doesn’t seem to bulk under her weight. His hands are still warm and firm as he walks up the stairs. She falls asleep before they get to the attic. 

When Ford wakes up, the first thing she notices is that she’s still wearing her clothes from last night. The second thing she notices is that she’s wearing her bonnet. She reaches up and touches the soft satin that covers her hair, she doesn’t remember putting it on last night. So either she was so drunk that she forgot, or whoever carried her to bed last night did it for her. She rubs her eyes and rolls over. There’s a glass of water on her nightstand, it feels like a miracle to her. She grabs it and downs the whole thing in one gulp. She spills some of it on the front of her shirt. 

She looks over to Tango’s side of the attic bedroom and sees that his bed is made, but he’s not in it. She looks out the window. That’s not where the sun is supposed to be. It should be just barely peeking over the horizon. It should be earlier than it is. She realizes that she didn’t wake up to the sound of her alarm and she fumbles for her phone. It’s dead. That’s why the alarm didn’t go off. She scrambles to find her charger and she plugs in her phone. 

“Come on,” she mutters to herself as she waits for it to get enough charge to turn on. When it does turn on, her chest wrenches. Panic sets in as she sees that it’s already past noon. There’s no way she can get the work done that she needs to do by tonight’s creative team meeting. 

She feels herself breathing faster, feels herself struggling to take in enough air. She balls up her fists and presses her palms to her eyes and it’s too much and the door is opening and she hears footsteps and she can’t stop it now, she can’t wipe it all away and give them a smile like she usually does. 

“We bought bru-” it’s Tango, Whiskey following behind him. They’re holding takeout containers. 

Ford’s trying to blink the tears out of her eyes. 

“Oh shit,” Whiskey says. He’s always useless whenever things get slightly emotional. 

“Could you go heat this up,” Tango hands Whiskey his takeout container and Whiskey high-tails it out of the room. 

“He’s gonna burn down the kitchen,” Ford says, it comes out more hysterical than she means for it to. 

“He knows how to use the microwave,” Tango says reassuringly.

Ford can’t laugh. She wishes she could. 

“Can I sit?” Tango points at the end of her bed. 

Ford nods, throat too dry to come up with the word “yes”

Tango sits at the edge of her bed and puts his hand on top of her knee. Ford likes that Tango touches her. Gentle, reassuring touches. It’s the same way he puts his arm around Whiskey’s shoulder on the bench or pats him on the back after a game. It’s not that she thinks that the rest of the team is afraid to touch her, it’s just that they probably don’t know how much she needs it. Tango’s hands ground her a lot more than she wants to admit. 

She closes her eyes and tries to breathe and then she remembers why she’s freaking out and starts freaking out all over again. The meeting starts after dinner, that’s not enough time to go through the entire script. 

Tango’s hesitant, gentle as he puts his hand on her shoulder and pulls her against his side. He holds her tighter when she relaxes against him. She wipes snot off her lip with her sleeve. 

“I look awful,'' she says, and then hates herself that her first concern was her appearance, she knows it shouldn’t be, but she _feels_ like it should. 

Tango doesn’t say anything. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks, “Is anything wrong?”

“My phone was dead, my alarm didn’t go off, I’m not going to get anything done, I’m fucking it all up already,” Ford blurts. 

Tango squeezes her shoulder and shakes his head. 

“You’re doing great.”

“No,” Ford says, “I was supposed to get up early and read the script and listen to the score and get the budget laid out and a million other things,” she insists. 

“No offense,” Tango says, “but you look like you needed the extra sleep.”

“I don’t _need_ extra sleep,” Ford says, “I _need_ to get my work done.”

Tango sighs, “Okay, then you work, and I’ll bring you snacks and water and make sure you don’t go insane, okay?” 

Ford nods. 

“I grabbed you some gatorade,” Whiskey’s standing against the doorway, he’s holding the takeout containers stacked one on top of the other, “And I don’t think I burned anything,” he holds out the takeout container, she takes it and she laughs, just glad to be held. 

“I got that scramble thing you like, with the hashbrowns and the eggs and the peppers and stuff, I think there’s onions too,” Tango says, “But if you don’t like it you can have my pancakes.”

Ford takes a gulp of the gatorade, it’s cold and that feels nice. She likes the purple ones, which is convenient, because everyone else in the Haus hates them. 

“The eggs are good, thanks,” Ford says. 

She takes a deep steady breath. There’s nowhere to go but forward. She squirms out of Tango’s arms, he’s reluctant but he lets her go. She finds her laptop, gathers her notebooks and looks for the script. There’s no way she gets it done. She knows that, but she can go through the first act, she can do that. She works through panic for the first hour. Whiskey and Tango go down to the living room to do yoga with Chowder because he insists flexibility is just as important to a skate as it is to a goalie. 

So she’s alone, it’s quiet and she tries not to choke on her own nerves. Daniel’s relying on her, and so are all the actors. Every single member of the drama club is relying on her and she fucked it up. She takes a breath, Tango’s right, there’s nothing she can do but work on as much as she can. 

“Okay,” she says, she downs another swig of her gatorade and she nods her head, cracks her knuckles, “Let’s do this.”

She grabs her highlighters and a pen and her notebook and starts working. She does a couple pages and then decides she needs to get dressed. She puts herself together, does her hair and her makeup the way she normally does. A pair of jeans and a sweater is all she needs to do work, she’ll put on something a little more formal when she goes into the drama club. Tango pops in and out of their bedroom, delivering granola bars and more gatorade and a grilled cheese and a salad for lunch. She eats most of it, mostly because he sticks around until she’s done eating and she doesn’t want him to pester her about it. 

It’s 4:30, and she doesn’t feel better necessarily but she does feel like she has at least a little bit of her life under control. She tucks all of her supplies into her bookbag and adds a collared shirt underneath of her sweater and takes her hair out of a bun and ties it back with a bow. 

“I’m heading out,” Ford says, she pops her head into the kitchen, Tango and Dex are hanging out at the table. Tango gets up, he wraps one arm around Ford’s shoulder and squeezes. Ford smiles, lets herself lean in just a little bit, Tango’s warm. 

“I’ll be home by midnight,” she says. 

Dex lets out a low whistle, “Don’t you have class in the morning.”

“It’s fine, I’ll go to bed when I get back.”

“What about dinner?” Tango asks, he only loosens his squeeze on her shoulder a little bit to look down at her.

“I’m sure I’ll find time to grab something, it’s fine,” she says. 

She moves away from Tango and pulls her bookbag over her shoulder and rushes out the door. She gets to the studio last, but she’s not late yet. Daniel’s sitting at the table in the middle of the room with the two other members of the creative team, Angela and Lakshmy. 

“Glad you joined us,” Daniel smiles and Ford. 

“She’s not even late,” Lakshmy says. She’s a sophomore, Ford always did like her. 

“Five minutes early is on time so on time is five minutes late,” Daniel says. 

“Sorry,” Ford says, “I’ll try to be earlier next time.”

Angela sighs, but no one says anything else to Daniel. 

“Lakshmy, how are the costume designs coming,” he folds his hands on the table and smiles, too wide at her. 

“Shouldn’t we wait for Sage,” Lakshmy says. 

“She’s not _actually_ on the creative team,” Daniel says. 

“She was here last weak,” Angela points out. 

Ford is too tired to argue. 

“She’ll just sit on her phone the entire time, she’s just tech, it’s not like we need her right now or whatever,” Daniel says. He doesn’t wait for anyone to answer, “So Denice, what did you think of the script?”

“It was um… what I read of it was very good.”

She only got to the second act. 

“What?” He asks, “what do you mean? What do you mean what you read of it? Did you not read all of it?”

“Well I got to the start of act 2,” Ford says. 

“You had three days, Denice,” Daniel says, it’s sharp. Ford doesn’t cry in front of other people, but she’s tired and she’s disappointed in herself and she can feel the tears prickling behind her eyes. 

Ford turns quickly when she hears the door open. Sage is walking in, and Ford has never been so happy to hear a pair of doc martens against the linoleum. She has a coffee in her hand and a pair of sunglasses still over her eyes. 

“Sorry I’m late there was traffic,” she says. 

“You live on campus,” Daniel sneers at her. 

“Yeah there was a big accident by the dining hall, ten skateboarder pileup, there was a student’s union golf cart involved, big disaster,” she moves her sunglasses on top of her bleached platinum hair and smirks. Ford smiles to herself, laughing a little big. Lakshmy and Angela stay mostly quiet, but they smirk. 

“So what are we up to?” Sage asks.

“Well I was just about to go to Denice to discuss the script, but she’s informed us that she hasn’t read the entire thing.”

Ford shrinks back into her chair. She feels Sage’s gaze on her as she looks down. 

“Oh yeah, neither have I,” Sage says.

Ford looks up, surprised. 

“Haven’t even googled it, couldn’t tell you a single idea I have,” she pulls a chair towards her and props her feet up on it. 

Sage takes the rest of Daniel’s heat, she just shrugs him off. 

Daniel sighs at about 7:30. 

Alright, take 10. I need to try and figure out what we can even do tonight if we haven’t all read the script,” it’s pointed at Ford. Sage rolls her eyes.

Ford stands up without saying anything, she can’t handle it and she walks out the door, her pace is quick. She feels a hand on her shoulder before she opens the door to take some fresh breath in, she really hopes it’s not fucking Daniel. 

She looks at the hand on her shoulder, she recognizes Sage’s hands, light brown, long fingers, nails painted black. She looks back. 

“You good?” she asks. 

“Oh,” Ford says, “Yeah, just… Daniel.”

“Dude’s a dick,” Sage says. 

Sage pushes open the door, holds it for Ford. 

Sage lights a cigarette a few steps away from the door, she sees Ford looking at her, “It’s gross, I know,” she says. 

“Oh uh…” Ford says, “That’s not, I mean it is a little bit, I guess.”

Sage laughs, “It’s fine.”

Ford nods, she takes a deep shaky breath. 

“Don’t let Daniel shove you around, he’s just a sad little man who has a teeny tiny bit of power and he’s going mad with it,” she takes a drag of the cigarette and ashes onto the sidewalk. 

“He was right, I should have read the play.”

“Whatever,” Sage says, “don’t you have like a bunch of shit on your plate?”

Ford shrugs, “I guess. I overslept, planned to read it today but… didn’t. What about you?”

“Oh I’ve read it,” Sage says, “It’s my favourite show.”

“Then why did you… why did you say you didn’t?”

“You seemed upset. I can handle Daniel’s bullshit and I like making him mad.”

Ford laughs, “That’s an easy task.”

“Too easy sometimes,” Sage adds. 

“But thank you for that. I appreciate it,” Ford says. 

“Any time,” Sage says with a smile, then she brings the cigarette to her lips again. Ford doesn’t mind the smell, her dad smoked a lot, much to the ire of her mom. And kegsters usually have one or two cigarettes being passed around. 

Honestly, the smell kind of suits Sage, in the way that the smell of the rink suits Whiskey, and too much cologne suits Louis, and bread flour suits Dex. It’s not that she likes it, but it feels right for Sage. 

“You should come to my place after this,” Sage says, “I have a bootleg, we can watch together,” she says.

“Oh,” Ford says, she thinks about it. She can text Tango and tell him she won’t be making it for Haus dinner so no one worries. And it will be good to at least see the show before the next creative team meeting. 

“Yeah,” she says, “Okay.”

“You know I can’t believe we’ve never worked on shows together before,” Sage says, “You’re good at this stuff. And you're cool.”

Ford feels the heat in her cheeks at the compliment. 

“Thanks,” she mumbles. 

Sage stubs her cigarette out against the wall and tucks the butt of it into the half empty pack.

“Shall we?” She holds the door open for Ford.

Ford bows her head slightly when she walks through the door. 

“Welcome back,” Daniel says, “Sage you smell like an ashtray,” he sneers. 

“New cologne, just for you baby,” she blows him a kiss. 

Ford tries to keep the smile off of her face. 

They have a few conversations about scheduling, they decide when to have auditions. Daniel scolds Ford for the fact that they can’t have them on Saturdays because of the hockey games. Sage tells him she has “fight club” on Saturdays so it doesn’t work for her either. It gets a laugh from the room and Daniel’s ears go pink. 

“Alright, we can head out,” Daniel says, “Everybody have the script read by Wednesday,” he says. 

“Wednesday?” Ford squeaks. 

“Yes, that’s the next meeting, it’s on the calendar,” Daniel sounds increasingly annoyed. 

They have an away game on Wednesday, it’s at Merrimack so they’ll be back by the evening, but Ford realizes how close she’ll be cutting it.

“Right, just making sure,” Ford smiles wide. She’ll just have to hope there’s no traffic. 

“Ready to head out?” Sage asks. 

Ford nods and follows her, she tosses her bookbag over her shoulder and follows. 

“Do you live on-campus?” Sage asks. 

“I did last year, this year I live,” Ford stops herself before she says she lives with the team, she keeps theatre and hockey separate, she has to remind herself of that, even around Sage, “I live over on Jason, near the intersection with Elm street.”

“Cool,” Sage says.

“I’m by the South Quad,”

Ford nods and follows behind her. Sage’s legs are quite a bit longer than Ford’s, so she has to jog every other half step to keep up with her. 

Sage swipes her student card at the door and leads Ford up a flight of stairs and past another door, down the hallway and into her room.

“We’ll have to watch it on my laptop,” Sage says, “I didn’t bother bringing a TV with me this year.”

“Oh, that’s chill,” Ford says, she realizes just how much she channels Nursey when she’s trying to appear calm and collected. Sage’s room is mostly clean, there’s a mug on her desk and a textbook laying open on the floor, Sage picks it up and puts it on her bookshelf. She sits down on her desk chair, pulls one of her legs up to her chest and opens her laptop. 

“You can sit down,” Sage says, she gestures to her bed. There are no other chairs in the room, there’s no space for them anyway. 

“Right,” Ford says, she sets her bag on the floor and sits on the edge of Sage’s bed. She has a grey floral comforter, it’s soft, fairly nondescript.

Sage sets the laptop on the bed and sits next to Ford. Ford scoots back so she’s leaning against the wall. 

“You’ve read the summary, right?” Sage asks, “You like, know what’s coming and stuff.”

Ford nods, “Mostly,” she clears her throat, “So why is this your favourite show?” She asks. 

Sage shrugs, “I dunno, I like that it’s complicated. Like being gay isn’t all sunshine and rainbows but it isn’t all death and sadness either, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” Ford says, “I mean I’d imagine.”

Sage gives her a strange look and then repositions the laptop, “You ready?”

Yeah, Ford says. 

“It’s a little blurry, but y’know how bootlegs are.”

Ford chuckles, “Yeah for sure.”

Sage hits play. Ford sits up straight, even as Sage slouches as the show goes on. There are moments, where Ford wants to look over at Sage, just to see what her reaction to a certain song or a certain line is, but Ford feels like that might be an invasion of something, or worse, what if she looks at Sage and Sage is looking back at her? Ford decides she really likes the costume choices that this production made, and the set looks really good. She wonders if they’ll have the budget for anything similar. 

“This is my go-to karaoke song,” Sage says, as the girl who plays Medium Allison emerges from a bed placed at centre stage. 

“Oh,” Ford says. 

Everyone likes to do Ring of Keys but this one’s my favourite.”

“It sounds like it’s in your range,” Ford says after a few bars. 

Sage nods, “I think it’s really sweet too.”

Ford yawns, “Sorry, I’m not yawning at you, I’m just tired.”

Sage nods, “We can finish this another time.”

“No!” Ford says quickly, “I mean, uh. I want to finish.”

“Can I at least get you a blanket or something?” Sage asks. 

Ford just shrugs. Sage reaches under her bed and pulls out a soft, fuzzy grey blanket and hands it to Ford. Ford drapes it over her shoulders and quietly says thanks. 

It’s dark in Sage’s room, she leans against the wall and keeps watching. 

Ford’s palms are sweaty and she can’t figure out why because it’s freezing in the dorm room, and she feels itchy under her collar no matter how much she pulls and scratches at it. Sage doesn’t seem uncomfortable, but Ford feels like she’s intruding on something, like she’s learning something she’s not supposed to. 

She sinks into the show. It tugs at her heartstrings the way it’s supposed to, and by the time they get to the end, there are tears in her eyes. She wipes them away with her sleeve before Sage can see them. The lyrics stick in her head, so many parts of it stick in her head. She wants to get them out of her head without taking the time to understand why. She feels seen… kind of… a little bit. Which doesn’t make sense, because well, the musical’s not about someone like her. Ford’s not gay, and she has a good relationship with her father, and she’s certainly not a lesbian cartoonist.

“I should head out, huh?” Ford says. 

“If you want to,” Sage says, then she shrugs. 

“Uh,” Ford says. And she doesn’t want to, not really, because she feels like Sage might be the only one who she can tell about the strange thoughts bouncing around her head. At the same time, she doesn’t want anyone to know about that, “Yeah, I’m pretty wiped, it’s been a long day.”

“Totally get it,” Sage says. She closes her laptop and turns on her bedside lamp. 

Ford slides off the bed and picks up her bookbag. 

“Oh,” Sage says, “Can I get your number, you’re cool, we can talk shit about Daniel.”

“Oh,” Ford says, “Yeah for sure.”

Sage hands Ford her phone and Ford puts her number into it. 

“I’ll see you on Wednesday,” Ford says. 

“You’ll make having to see Daniel bearable,” Sage says with a smile that’s so genuine it makes Ford’s stomach turn. 

Ford laughs, gently but awkwardly. 

When the cold air of the night hits her face, she finally takes a breath. It’s been a day, she feels weird. 

She realizes that she didn’t eat dinner when she gets back to the Haus, grabs a slice of bread from the bag and shoves it into her mouth on the way upstairs. 

She walks from the front door, directly to the attic. She goes from the door to her closet, she puts on her pajamas and flops headfirst on her pillow, she still needs to shower, but for right now, she really doesn’t want to move. 

“You good?” Tango asks, looking up from his bed. 

“Tired,” Ford mumbles into her pillow. 

“Makes sense,” Tango says, “I'll cover for you if you want to skip practice tomorrow.”

Ford shakes her head, “No I’m coming.”

“You’re a crazy person, I hope you know that,” Tango says. 

Ford smiles. 


	2. 2

_You couldn't have, you couldn't have_

_Stuck your tongue down the throat of somebody_

_Who loves you more_

* * *

Ford’s phone buzzes in her pocket. She’s standing next to Hall and Murray on the bench watching practice. 

**[Unknown Number 6:51]: hey Denice, it’s Sage, I just remembered that I didn’t give you my number lmao. So i figured i’d text you.**

She reads the message and then stuffs her phone back into her pocket. She feels her cheeks heating up. She hopes that Hall and Murray, who are at this point the closest thing she has to parental supervision, don’t notice the way she ducks her head for the rest of practice. She walks around the dressing room collecting the practice jerseys. Louis is in charge of the music, so there’s something bassy and European blasting from the bluetooth speaker in the corner. 

“Thanks,” Tango smiles at her, all wide and kind and lopsided and Ford feels her heart twist in her chest, at least that’s what she thinks it is. She’s shoving the first half of the practice jerseys into the washing machine when she feels her phone buzz in her pocket again. She pulls it out, saves Sage’s number this time. 

**[Sage 8:02] just saw Daniel spill soup on his new corduroys in the dining hall, feels like something you’d want to know about :p**

Ford looks at her phone, she sets the wash cycle while she tries to figure out what to say. Something funny, something charming, but not too charming or she’ll look like she’s trying too hard. 

**[Ford 8:08] you’re right, i absolutely want to hear about Daniel’s misfortune**

**[Ford 8:08] is that mean? It feels mean.**

**[Sage 8:09] oh thank god you answered, i was worried you gave me the wrong number or something**

Ford stares at the message again. Sage? Sage, that Sage? That Sage wanted to talk to her enough that she was worried she got the wrong number? That she thought Ford would give her the wrong number? Ford feels something in her throat, like she’s not getting quite enough air. 

**[Ford 8:11] nope this is 110% me**

**[Sage 8:12] I’m glad**

**[Sage 8:12] and no way, it’s absolutely not mean, Daniel has a god complex and he’d happily kill all of us if it meant getting a morsel of praise from the department**

**[Ford 8:14] Wow, you just absolutely nailed who he is as a person.**

“Hey!” 

Ford shoves her phone back in her pocket when she hears Tango’s voice, like she’s supposed to hide something. 

“Hey, what’s up?” Ford asks. 

“Any requests for this morning’s Annie’s run?” Tango says, leaning against the door frame. 

Ford shakes her head, “I have class in like 45 minutes,” she says. 

“Okay, well, don’t forget to eat until dinner time again,” Tango says. 

“Aw that’s not fair, that hardly ever happens.”

Tango gives her a look, somewhere between warning and concern, it makes her feel warm. 

**[Sage 8:15] can you imagine being in the same year as that guy. Try taking an acting class with someone who thinks he’s the next Sondheim.**

**[Ford 8:23] God i think i would die**

**[Sage 8:24] Well then i’m glad you’re a year younger than us, because i wouldn’t like it very much if you were dead.**

The heat from before returns to Ford’s cheeks and she feels a little bit high and nauseous at the same time

**[Ford 8:25] You’re gonna make me blush**

**[Sage 8:26] Good**

Ford’s mouth feels dry, like she’s just eaten Whiskey’s attempt at making scones from last week. She doesn’t want to think too much about the implications. It’s just that Sage is really cool, and really fun to hang out with, and Ford wants Sage to want to keep talking to her. 

**[Sage 8:28] I’m about to start class (side note never take Shakespeare at 8:30) so i promise i’m not ignoring you**

**[Ford 8:30] I have class at 9 so i’m not ignoring you either**

**[Sage 8:31] good. I’ll talk to you after :)**

Ford shakes her head at herself and moves the first half of practice jerseys into the dryer and puts the second half in the wash. She’ll come back to finish after her studio acting class. She wears her theatre blacks to practice on Mondays, just a pair of black sweatpants and a long sleeve black shirt. It’s not what she usually wears but it’s department required that she wears all black to studio classes. 

She spends every free second between breathing exercises and working with her partner for the dialogue they have due next week, checking for a text from Sage. There are none, and the class is three hours long. She checks during their break and she finds nothing. A little disappointed, she returns to the studio. 

Ford can rank where she spends the most time in any given week. When she was a freshman, she almost certainly thought she would spend more time in the theatre than anywhere else, now, in her third year at Samwell it looks a little more like this. 

  1. Faber
  2. The Haus
  3. The bus/away games
  4. Classes (assorted)
  5. Annie’s
  6. The theatre



She knows that someone like Daniel might question her priorities, seeing that list. And it’s not like she hasn’t questioned them herself. How much can you love theatre when the thought of being inside of one makes you feel like you’re going to break out into hives? Still, she knows she loves it. 

She loves the rink too, and the bus, and the boys. And she loves this sport too, the more she learns about it, the more she wants to spend time with it. Long story short, Ford ends up at Faber again to switch the laundry and finish a handful of readings. 

Then she heads back to the Haus. She showers and takes the stairs up to the attic. Tango’s sitting in his bed. He averts his eyes the way he always does when she comes up the stairs wearing a towel.She’s never thought to hide from Tango for as long as they’ve been living in the same space, so she just walks over to her closet and steps inside, the door obscures her from Tango, if Tango wanted to look in the first place. She tosses her theatre blacks into her hamper, She’ll have to wash them before class tomorrow. Then she puts on a skirt and a t-shirt that she ties into a crop top. She adds a cardigan because it’s starting to get cold in early October. 

She closes the closet door and clears her throat, that’s the little signal she gives Tango that it’s safe to look. 

Tango looks up from his laptop. 

“How was class?” he asks. 

“Sweaty,” Ford says. 

“I swear, that class is basically just a gym requirement,” Tango snorts. 

“Yeah except way weirder. Wanna hear something batshit my prof said?”

“Always.”

Ford clears her throat to do an impression, “He said ‘Now we all know who each other is is vertically, but I want us to all get to know one another _horizontally_ ,” Ford laughs. 

“That sounds like?” Tango trails off. 

“There was no orgy,” Ford says. 

Both of them giggle, eventually laughing more at the other laughing than at anything that was actually funny. 

Ford flops down into her bed, she has 30 minutes of free time before she has a study block sectioned out in her schedule. 

**[Sage 12:30] Hey! I didn’t want to text you while you were in class. I figured it was studio acting.**

**[Ford 12:34] it was, how did you know?**

**[Sage 12:35] It’s always at 9am on Monday lol**

**[Ford 12:36] That’s so evil**

**[Sage 12:37] it’s like they’re trying to weed out everyone who’s not a morning person.**

**[Ford 12:38] Man fuck the department**

**[Sage 12:39] Really and truly**

**[Sage 12:40] What are you up to?**

**[Ford 12:41] Just hanging out. I have to read a play for my devising class, then I have dinner with the team**

**[Sage 12:43] The team?**

Ford looks at her phone with an eyebrow raised. She tries to keep theatre and hockey separate, but everyone knows she does both. Daniel certainly gives her shit for it often enough. But then again, Sage was on exchange last year, and they haven’t crossed paths until now. 

**[Ford 12:45] oh yeah, the hockey team. I’m their manager, do the laundry, make the schedules, go to the games. That kind of stuff**

**[Ford 12:45] It’s kind of lame but a job’s a job**

She tacks on the last part even though she doesn’t really believe it.

**[Sage 12:47] It sounds like a really cool job actually. I definitely don’t think your lame**

**[Ford 12:48] really????**

**[Sage 12:50] Yeah! I’m not exactly a hockey fan, but sports are cool. And I’m sure you’re really good at the job. Like i bet that hockey team wouldn’t stand a chance without you running the show for them**

**[Ford 12:51] God you’re gonna make me blush again**

**[Sage 12:53] Maybe that’s the point.**

**[Sage 12:53] What are you reading?**

**[Ford 12:54] Cat on a hot tin roof**

**[Sage 12:55] ah Tenessee Williams, that’s one of my favourites, text me when your done? I want to know what you think.**

**[Ford 12:56] I will.**

**[Sage 12:58] Looking forward to it.**

When Ford closes the play, Sage is the first person she texts with all of her notes and her comments and what she thought was good and bad and how she feels kind of like a chump that this is the first Tenessee Williams play she’s read, three years into a theatre degree. And Sage has thoughts and opinions and she lets Ford have them, and she tells Ford she’s smart and that she has great insight and Ford feels so happy she could float. Ford thinks that she’s never been so excited to talk to someone about a play, it’s a welcome change. Sage tells Ford that she can’t wait to see her after the creative team meeting, and Ford finds that she’s never been so excited to go to one of those too. 

Daniel is still an asshole, but he’s less of one now that they’re finally talking about auditions and casting choices. Ford doesn’t have much to say about it, and neither does Sage. Stage Managers and Lighting Designers generally don’t care much about who gets cast as long as they can hit their marks and show up on time. Lakshmy has more to say as a designer and so does Angela as a dramaturg (whatever the hell that even is, it’s been three years and Ford still isn’t sure). 

“You two are awful quiet,” Daniel says, looking directly at Ford and Sage, who now sit next to each other in the meetings. 

“Uh,” Ford says. 

“I don’t care who you cast,” Sage says outright, “If they’re on stage I can light them,” she shrugs. 

“What about you, hon?” he looks at Ford. 

God she hates it when she does that. Bitty’s little pet names were endearing, they were sweet, if he called you “honey,” it meant he liked you. With Daniel, it drips with condescension. 

“It’s your vision,” Ford says, “As long as they make call-time I’ll be happy with them.”

Daniel smiles at her but Ford can see him resisting the urge to roll his eyes. 

“Well then I suppose we can call the meeting. Everybody back here next Wednesday. Ang, dear, can you put the audition call up on Instagram and send the email.”

Angela nods. Ford feels bad for her sometimes, with the way she follows Daniel around like a lost puppy. 

Sage gets up and Ford follows her out the door. She catches Daniel giving her a side eye but she decides to ignore it. Sage peels off to the smoking are beside the theatre building and lights a cigarette. She takes a deep breath in and sighs on the exhale. 

“God what a dick,” she says. 

Ford laughs. 

It’s late now, dark. Ford looks up at Sage. She looks just cool in sort of an effortless way. She has all this silver jewelry, a chain around her neck, dangly earrings that reflect the light, rings on just about every finger. And she dresses like something out of a Stevie Nicks video, and Ford’s sure that must take effort, but Sage never seems to be trying hard at all. 

“It’s dark, I can walk you home,” Sage says. 

“But then who would walk you home?” Ford says with a shy smile. 

“Ah, you got me there,” Sage says, “I guess I’m just angling to walk with you for a while.”

“I’ve got time for that,” Ford’s shy smile doesn’t seem to want to go away. 

“Okay,” Sage says and she puts out the cigarette against the side of the wall and drops the butt into her nearly empty pack. 

Sage doesn’t walk as fast as she had the other night when they were heading to her dorm, she slows down while they talk. And oh boy, do they talk.They talk about their classes and they talk a little bit of shit about Daniel, and they keep talking about Tenessee Williams, and Sage just seems to know so much about so many things, and Ford just looks up at her in awe while she goes on and on about the deeper meanings of the play Ford read this afternoon. Man, if every class were like this, Ford would never be tempted to skip again. 

“So uh, kinda tricked you into letting me walk you home,” Sage says. 

And Ford looks up and notices that Sage has in fact walked her past Faber and to the street that crosses the river just before frat row. 

“Damn you,” Ford says without any real malice, and with some real affection. 

“I’m just that good,” Sage smirks. 

“Thanks,” Ford says, “I like hanging out with you.”

“Yeah, me too,” Sage nods. 

Ford looks down at her own shoes, then she adjusts her book bag on her shoulder. 

“Well I should head home. Boys might be worried about me.”

“Yeah,” Sage says, “Uh, I just wanted to ask. What are you doing Friday night?”

“Oh, uh, we have an away game,’ Ford says. 

“What about Saturday? I was just wondering if you wanted to grab dinner and hang out for a while? Just like, in the dining hall and stuff.”

“Oh,” Ford says, “Yeah, that’d be sweet.”

“Okay, see you then,” Sage says. 

Sage stands on the sidewalk and watches until Ford crosses the street. Ford turns and waves as she jogs up the steps to the Haus. She thinks the stupid, shy smile on her face might just become a permanent fixture if she’s not careful. 

Tango’s sitting on the couch in the living room, there’s something on TV but he’s not really paying attention to it. 

“Hey,” he says. 

“Hey,” she says back. 

“Dex made dinner, there’s leftovers in the fridge,” Tango gestures towards the kitchen. 

“You look tired,” Ford comments. 

“Never agree to go to the gym with Whiskey,” He says with a sigh. 

“Duly noted. What’s he doing tonight.”

“Chad,” Tango rolls his eyes. 

“Which one?”

“I’ve stopped keeping track, they all suck.”

Ford finds a bowl of lasagna in the fridge and heats it up for herself in the microwave. 

She returns to the living room and sits on the couch next to Tango. Tango lifts the blanket that’s covering his chest and she curls up against his side. 

“He does know that he can do better, right?” Ford says. 

“I keep trying to tell him that,” Tango says, “Won’t listen.”

“Ugh,” Ford says, she takes a bite of her dinner and sighs, “Are they actually a thing yet?”

“He says it’s not a thing, but it’s a thing. At least a little thing.”

Ford rests her head against Tango’s shoulder and yawns. 

“Long day?”

“Yeah,” Ford says. 

“Lucky us, no practice tomorrow,” Tango says, “Dex told us at dinner, something about Hall and Murray and a scheduling conflict. Dunno. But lucky us.”

“Mmm lucky us,” Ford nods thinking about whether she wants to use the time to get caught up on classwork or sleep. Both options seem useful. Right now though, she’s perfectly content to tuck herself under Tango’s arm, eat Dex’s above average attempt at lasagna, and watch a late game between the Colorado Avalanche and the Las Vegas Aces. It’s comfortable and it’s warm. And when Whiskey gets home with a hickey on his neck, both of them chirp him for it instantly, but Ford lifts up the blanket and Whiskey joins them on the couch. 

The boys win their away game on Friday, the bus ride back to Samwell is filled with laughter and whoops and Louis’ promises of a kegster tomorrow night to celebrate. Ford has a book that she’s supposed to be reading in her lap, but her phone is tucked between the pages as it lights up with texts from Sage. 

**[Sage 11:37] I saw that they won, congrats!**

**[Ford 11:39] I didn’t do much.**

**[Sage 11:38] no way, i told you, i’m like 100% certain they’d fall apart without you.**

“Who you talking to?” Whiskey asks, leaning over the seat. 

There’s a belligerent grin on his face, one that he only really gives to her and Tango. 

“Nobody,” Ford says quickly. 

“Tango’s sleeping, you can tell me,” Whiskey whispers. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ford asks. 

Whiskey shrugs, “I dunno, like are you talking _talking_ to someone? Because I get why you wouldn’t tell him about that.”

“Once again, what is that supposed to mean, Whisk?”

“Well he clearly has a crush on you,” Whiskey says. 

And. 

Oh. 

Yeah. 

Ford had been meaning to maybe think about that at some point. Tango’s great, but something about it makes her skin feel itchy. 

“Are you sure?” she asks. 

“I mean he’s never told me that, but like, yeah,” Whiskey says. 

“Well I’m not _talking_ talking to anyone. Just a friend from the creative team, she’s cool.”

“Oh, okay. Cool,” Whiskey says, “Wanna play hangman?”

Ford thinks about what she’s going to wear to hang out with Sage more than she thinks about Tango’s reported crush on her. Maybe it should change the way she feels, they way she moves around their room, but it doesn’t.

“Brought you coffee,” Tango says when he and Whiskey come back to the attic after their morning run. 

“Thanks,” Ford says and takes it out of Tango’s hands. 

Whiskey raises his eyebrows suggestively behind Tango’s back, and Ford very obviously rolls her eyes. 

“We’re doing the booze cruise before the kegster, you want to come with?” Tango asks. 

Ford shakes her head, “I’ve got plans.”

“With who?” Whiskey asks. 

“Dinner, with a friend from the creative team. She’s gonna help me try and understand this shitty play I got assigned.”

“Oh sweet,” Tango says, “You are coming to the kegster though, right?” 

“Yeah, obviously,” Ford says, “Might be a little late, but I’m coming home tonight.”

Whiskey snorts.

“I mean you’re the expert in not coming home,” Ford ribs Whiskey.

“I told you it’s not serious.”

“If you spend the night it’s serious,” Ford says. 

“I’m with Ford, you’re not just boning anymore.”

“God who the hell even says boning,” Whiskey groans and lays down on the floor, “So much for best friends,” he rolls his eyes but they know he doesn’t mean it. 

In the end, Ford wears what she normally would for her hang-out with Sage. A navy blue skirt and a soft white sweater with a matching white bow in her hair. 

“See you tonight!” Ford calls behind her as she walks out the door. 

Sage is waiting for her outside the dining hall. She puts out her cigarette the second she sees Ford and smiles. 

“Hey!” Sage says, “I’m glad you made it.”

“Course I made it,” Ford says. 

Sage puts her hand on Ford’s shoulder, just for a second, but Ford almost jumps at the touch. Which is weird, because the boys touch her all the time, she always greets Lakshmy with a hug. Sage’s touch feels different, more jarring, more meaningful, more intense. Maybe it’s just because Sage is an intense person. That’s what Ford decides. 

“I thought maybe we could grab dinner and eat at the picnic tables in the quad. Take advantage of the weather while we have it.”

“Yeah, that sounds nice,” Ford says. 

The sun is starting to set when Ford, Sage, and about a dozen chicken fingers find a spot at one of the picnic tables near the lake. 

“Hold that pose,” Ford says. 

Ford freezes where she is, holding a french fry and looking at Sage. 

“The lighting’s perfect,” Sage says and she pulls out her phone and snaps some pictures of Ford. 

Sage hands her phone over to Ford so she can look at the pictures. 

“I can delete them if you don’t like them,” Sage says. 

Ford shakes her head. Sage was right, the lighting was perfect, the sun is behind her head, lighting her from behind, it makes her hair look softer, like there’s a halo of gold around her. 

“No, you should keep them,” Ford says, “They’re really good.”

“Thanks,” Sage says, “What can I say, I appreciate good light.”

Ford nods, “Yeah I guess you would.”

They start talking about the play and Sage tells Ford about her plans for lighting, and once again, Ford finds herself enthralled with everything Sage has to say. She thinks she’d listen to her talk about absolutely anything. She’s smart in a way that’s not pretentious, in a way that makes things easy to explain to Ford. Ford finds herself leaning forward across the table and when they’re done eating, they sit on top of the picnic table, shoulder to shoulder. They look at the lake and Ford lets Sage do most of the talking because she doesn’t feel like she can say anything of importance, not with all the cool stuff Sage is talking about. 

Sage gestures, big and wide while she tells Ford a story about how one time in high school she had to light and entire show manually and had to work a follow-spot and a lighting board at the same time. He hand lands on Ford’s knee and it stays there. Ford makes no move to get Sage’s hand off of her. It feels like something crawled into her chest and started banging around in there, demanding to be let out, demanding to say it’s piece. Sage notices her hand on Ford’s knee and both of them look down at it at the same time. They meet each other’s eyes, and Ford sees something hot in Sage, something burning and dangerous, and exciting. Sage moves her head just a little. Ford looks away. Sage moves her hand and she keeps telling the story like nothing happened. 

Ford wants to act like nothing happened, but if nothing happened, then why is that thing in her chest still trying to get out.

Sage doesn’t touch Ford again, not even an incidental brush of their hands. Ford wants her to. She doesn’t know why and she won’t examine that impulse until later. She wants the intensity. 

“I should go,” Ford says, it’s nearly 10, which means they’ve been talking for hours. Sage nods.

“It’s late.”

“I’m walking _you_ home this time,” Ford says. 

Sage laughs, Ford watches as she bites her lip and pushes her hair off her forehead. God, whatever’s in her chest wants out. 

“Let’s go then.”

It’s a little quieter this time. Ford finds she doesn’t mind that, simply being next to Sage feels exciting and intense. She keeps thinking that word, _intense,_ she doesn’t think that there’s a better word to describe Sage, really. 

“Text me when you get home, okay?” Sage says as she opens the door to her building. 

“Will do,” Ford says. 

“See you around,” Sage says. 

“Yeah,” Ford says with a shy smile. 

The walk home gives the intensity plenty of time to turn into fear. Why does Sage feel so intense? Why does her hand on her knee feel like a bunch of little electric shocks running through her body? Why does she get nervous to hang out with her? Whatever those feelings are, Ford decides she doesn’t want them. 

The party’s not in full swing when Ford gets back, things rarely get really crazy until midnight. But there are a couple of people hanging out, Farmer and some volleyball players on the couch, Chowder with his arm around Farmer. 

Louis is setting up the speakers, Nursey and Dex are bickering about where to put the keg. Ford smiles to herself, she takes off her jacket and hangs it up. She shakes her head and steps inside. It feels lighter in the Haus, safe. 

“Are Whiskey and Tango back yet?” She asks. 

“Nah!” Hops shouts from the top of the stairs, “Still on the booze cruise,” he adds and then bounces down the stairs. He wraps his arm around her and hugs her. 

“Where’s Bully?” Ford asks as they pull apart from the hug. 

“He’s on his way,” Hops says. 

“Cool,” Ford says. 

“Ford!” Dex shouts once he and Nursey have finally put the keg in the living room. 

Ford looks up. 

“You want a beer?” Nursey asks, holding up a red solo cup, “Pre-game the pre-game?”

Ford laughs, because of course that’s how Nursey thinks about kegsters. 

“Sure,” Ford says, “Who’s on you-patrol?” She elbows him. 

“Ha-Ha,” Nursey deadpans. 

“I am,” Dex holds up a can of sprite while Nursey hands Ford a cup of beer. Ford takes a long deep drink. She’s already forgetting about her weird dinner. That thing in her chest that wanted to get out a while ago is contained and calm. 

The door opens and Ford sees Whiskey and Tango walking into the Haus holding a laundry basket full of alcohol. 

“Shots!” Tango shouts to everyone in the Haus, “Hops, for the tub,” he hands Hops an armful of vodka bottles. He holds up a slightly more expensive bottle of vodka and leads everyone into the kitchen. Whiskey lines up rows of those shot sized red-solo cups and Tango pours shots. They stand around the kitchen table and raise the glasses and knock back the liquor. Ford chases it with the beer in her hand and grimaces. Tango hands her a bottle of orange juice without saying anything and Ford nods to thank him. She takes a gulp and clears her throat. 

“How was dinner?” Tango asks. 

“Good!” Ford says, her voice is a little higher, slightly too enthusiastic. 

The music starts soon after that, banging through Louis’ speakers and Ford feels her shoulders relaxing a little bit. 

Ford hangs out near the edges of the party. She is, at her core, a people watcher. She watches Nursey talking to Dex, leaning so far forward that he’s almost horizontally. She watched when Whiskey disappeared upstairs behind Chad. She watches Hops teaching Bully ho to waltz, but Mo Bamba is playing so they look insane, and Louis somewhere near the aux cord flirting with a volleyball player. Chowder and Farmer are setting up a round of beer pong and Tango… Tango’s somewhere, Ford hasn’t seen him in a while. She finds another cup of tub juice, she’s not trying to get Fucked Up, but she is trying to get fucked up. Not fucked up enough to end up falling asleep on the couch, but fucked up enough that she stops feeling all weird about everything for at least a couple hours. 

She dances with Bully and Hops, and she throws her head back laughing and everything feels nice for a while. It’s safe and it’s warm and she’s home and Hops is a terrible dancer when he’s drunk. 

She feels a hand on her shoulder and it’s Tango, and then he’s joining them while they dance and Ford laughs when Louis starts playing Queen again. Because if you give that man more than one beer and the aux cord, he’ll inevitably start playing Queen, and when he starts playing Bohemian Rhapsody, that’s when everything goes crazy because there’s not a person on campus who doesn’t know the words, and Tango slings his arm around Ford’s shoulders and she wraps her arm around his waist because he’s that much taller than she is. And then she gets up and stands on the coffee table (a Dex original, so you know it’s sturdy) so that she can look him in the eyes while they scream the words and laugh together. They headbang when appropriate and Ford still has her drink in her hands and she finishes it by the time they get to the operatic section, and Tango’s making his voice all high pitched and squeaky to match the song and Ford is trying to keep singing but she’s laughing to hard. She rests her head against Tango’s shoulder and he puts his hand on her back to keep her steady and then she moves her head and he smiles at her and they sway to the music. 

Tango’s warm and smiling and there’s a blush on his cheeks from the drinks, and probably a little bit from the heat of the party and Ford puts her arms around him as the music slows and then picks back up. 

And Ford looks Tango in the eyes. His big blue eyes always look so kind and welcoming. When Tango looks at her she feels like someone’s seeing her, like someone cares about her and what happens to her. And Tango knows her, maybe better than anyone else. 

Ford kisses him, arm resting on the back of his neck, other hand resting on his shoulder for balance. He wraps one hand around her waist, his hands are so big and strong and he’s holding her there. He kisses her back, leaning into it, lips pressed together. She can feel people watching them. She doesn’t care. Or, she does care, but she knows that they don’t really care all that much. She cares about that. And he parts his lips slightly and she slips her tongue into his mouth. And it’s his hands, it’s his hands on her, holding her, that makes her feel safe and comfortable. 

They pull apart and Tango lifts her off the table and he grins at her, and she grins back and she wonders if they’re grinning for the same reasons. She sees Hops slap Tango on the ass and everyone is back to laughing and singing and Louis is playing Under Pressure and Tango sings the “do-do-do-duh-duh-do-do!” part and everyone laughs and Ford stands on her tip-toes to kiss him again. 

It’s not world shaking, not world shattering. It was a good kiss, Tango certainly has enough practice, and even though it doesn’t measure up to his, Ford’s experiences of cast party drinking games of spin the bottle have given her enough experience. 

They make out, in between songs and jokes and games of beer pong. She catches Dex looking at them a little bit sideways and then smiling anyway. And Ford finds herself smiling too. Isn't that nice? Isn’t this nice? This moment. 

They sit on the stairs because all the other seats are taken. Being held by Tango feels normal, it feels natural and he tastes like tub juice and sweat and it’s familiar. 

“Uhhhh,” Whiskey’s standing on the stairs behind them, the collar of his polo is slightly rumpled and Ford’s about 100% certain that Chad is currently passed out in his bed. And the she realizes that Whiskey’s looking at her, sitting pretty much entirely in Tango’s lap with her arms draped around his neck, his spit still shining on her lips.

“Way to get your shit together,” Whiskey pats Tango on the back and snorts, on his way to the kitchen. 

Ford rests her head against Tango’s chest and goes in for another kiss. 

They go to bed after cleanup, to their own beds. Tango still averts his eyes when she gets changed. She clears her throat like usual and climbs into her own bed. 

“Goodnight, Foxy,” Tango mumbles, drunk and tired into his pillow. 

“‘Night,” Ford says.

And she lays awake. Of the boys she’s kissed, Tango has to be the best, right? Tango has to be as good as it gets. 


	3. 3

_So I will wait for the next time you want me_

_Like a dog with a bird at your door_

* * *

“Ford,” Tango’s gently shaking her awake in the morning. She hears a faint buzzing and then a ringing and she opens her eyes to see Tango looking at her. 

“Mmmph.”

“Your alarm’s going off.”

“Forgot to turn it off,” she groans and reaches for it. 

“I’ve got it,” Tango says and he finds her phone and turns off the alarm. 

“Whiskey got coffee,” Tango’s holding a take-out cup from Annie’s. 

Ford grabs it as she sits up. 

“Good morning,” Tango says. 

“Morning,” Ford greets with an easy smile. She takes a sip of her coffee. 

“He picked it up while he was walking you know who home this morning.”

“Oh he spent the night?” Ford rolls her eyes. 

“We’ve gotta get him a better date,” Tango says. 

“Or get him to admit that this one’s a date,” Ford laughs. 

They laugh together. Ford looks at her phone and realizes she hasn’t checked it since last night. 

**[Sage 12:07] Hey, i just wanted to say that i really liked hanging out with you tonight.**

Ford doesn’t answer it. 

“Wanna watch a movie or something?” Tango asks, “Unless you’ve got a bunch of work to do or something.”

“Nope,” Ford says, “It’s actually kind of a light week on the readings.”

“Sweet.”

They set up what they eventually term, “the hangover den,” in the living room, with blankets piled on the couch and the floor. They eat a bowl of stale cheetos leftover from last night, it’s gross but they do it together, so no judgement. It’s Tango’s turn to pick the movie, but he picks School of Rock because they both like it. Last time Whiskey picked the movie they ended up watching both Goon movies and Ford had nearly thrown up from all the fake blood. Ford settles in and positions herself against Tango’s side. His hand gently draws circles on her shoulder. 

They hear the door open, they see Whiskey, expecting to see Whiskey. He nods at them and trudges up the stairs to his room. Tango and Ford give each other a knowing look. 

“Off again?” Tango asks. 

“Definitely off again,” Ford agrees. 

She doesn’t fall asleep on him, but she does drift a little bit. She thinks about how she loves him. How this makes sense. How it’s absolutely supposed to make sense. How they make sense, and how it made sense to everyone last night. So about halfway through the movie, she crawls into his lap. 

“Is this okay?” she says. 

He nods and then they’re kissing again. His hands on the small of her back, her hands resting on his shoulder. 

Making out with Tango is unquestionably the safest thing Ford has ever done. He’s never pushy, he’s always sweet, gentle and just the right amount of passionate. And he never starts anything. He always waits for Ford to give him the look, always waits for Ford to start it. 

Tango never calls her his girlfriend, Ford never calls Tango his boyfriend. It’s just that her tongue ends up in his mouth a lot. 

“I’m heading out for the audition meeting,” Ford calls on her way out the door to the attic

“Have a good one!” Tango calls after her. 

And shit. Ford realizes as she approaches the arts building, she never texted Sage back. 

“Oh my god!” Ford exclaims when she sees her, “I’m an asshole.”

Sage looks up startled, she takes another drag of her cigarette looking confused. 

“I never texted you back, I’m so sorry!” Ford says. 

“Ah don’t sweat it,” Sage says.

“I really meant to, I swear,” Ford says. 

“It’s okay, you’re a busy person, I get it.”

“Yeah,” Ford says. 

They go into the studio and take their usual spots at the table to talk about casting and all the stuff that goes along with it.

“So how’s the hockey stuff?” Sage asks as they walk out of the building together. 

“It’s good, finally getting into the swing of things,” Ford says, “We won last night. It was fun.”

“Maybe I’ll have to come see a game one time,” Sage says. 

“You don’t have to,” Ford says. 

Sage shrugs, “Seems like fun.”

They walk in silence for a while longer before Sage speaks again. 

“Got any plans for Halloween?”

“Uh, not sure,” Ford says. She knows there’s probably going to be a kegster, but other than that, there’s not much planned. 

“Well if you don’t have anything else to do, there’s a Rocky Horror thing that some of my friends are going to. You could come with me if you want.”

“Oh, what time?” Ford asks. 

“I think they want to start at dusk, they’re projecting it onto the side of an old abandoned building, which is sick if you ask me. So probably starts around 7.”

“Yeah, I think I can definitely make that work.”

“Have you seen Rocky Horror?” Sage asks. 

“I’m like, vaguely aware of it, but I’ve never seen it.”

“Okay so then you definitely come over and get dressed up.”

“People get dressed up?”

“Oh god you really are a virgin,” Sage grins. 

“Huh?”

“Oh, not like,” Sage blushes, “I wasn’t talking about like actual sex. It’s just what you call someone who’s never been to a screening before.”

“And you have?”

“It’s a Halloween tradition.”

“Oh,” Ford says, “Yeah, that’s really cool. I’ll be there.”

“Perfect!” Sage says, “It’ll be cool.”

They part ways at the Lake Quad and Ford finds herself trying very hard to catch her breath. She pulls out her phone before she crosses the street and adds “Rocky Horror w/ Sage” to her calendar. She’s nervous about it. Probably because Sage is so cool. She won’t think too hard about it. She has homework to do. 

She likes the routine that she’s fallen into with Whiskey and tango this year. Especially on those days after practice while she’s washing jerseys and doing her homework, she likes it when they leave her behind and go to Annie’s. She likes that they know her coffee order and they always return with something for her to eat. She likes that Tango asks what she’s working on and Whiskey nods while she answers, and she likes hanging up their jerseys for the game. She always makes sure to do a good job, making sure everyone’s stuff is in the right place, but she takes extra care with Whiskey and Tango’s things, sometimes she leaves a post it note for both of them, just a little “good luck” note. She knows Whiskey saves them and Tango cherishes them but always ends up losing his. 

The day of Halloween is no exception. They have a matinee game, set to start at 1:30, so Ford’s in the equipment room, she makes sure that everyone has dry skates and their jerseys are sitting in their stalls. Whiskey and Tango come back from Annie’s and Tango puts the takeout cup in her hands. She finds the new skate laces that Bully had asked for last night at practice and sets them with his other things. 

“You coming to the Haus tonight?” Whiskey asks, “Dex bought those pillsbury Halloween cookies, like a whole truck load.”

“I’ll be there,” Ford says, “Might be a little late, I have plans.”

“Plans?” Tango asks. 

“Yeah, with the friend from the creative team. We’re going to a movie.”

“Ah,” Tango says leaning against the wall. 

They lose, but not by enough that it ruins anyone’s day. Whiskey’s going to be grumpy for about an hour and then get over it. Tango’s hardly ever grumpy, he just says something to the affect of, “shake it off, we’ll get ‘em next time,” and keeps on trucking. 

Ford hurries back to the Haus after the gets everything in the dryer. She has instructions from Sage to bring a pair of fishnets, a black skirt, and a pair of black heels over to her dorm so they can get ready together. 

“Oh perfect!” Sage says when she sees Ford’s clothes in her hands. She pulls her into the dorm room and closes the door behind them. 

“God you’re right on time, I don’t know how you manage,” Sage looks at her phone. 

Ford shrugs, “Lucky the boys didn’t go into overtime.”

“Thank god for those boys.” Sage says a little bit sarcastically. 

Sage sits down on her bed, “Okay so you’re going to be Columbia. I always go as Magenta so I figured we’d make a good pair.”

“I don’t know who those people are,” Ford says. 

“It’s okay, you’ll learn fast,” Sage says. 

“Alright you should start by getting dressed.”

Ford nods. Sage is a theatre person, so is Ford. The simple act of getting changed together shouldn’t make Ford’s arm hairs stand on end, but it does. Sage takes off her shirt and Ford sees a tattoo on her shoulder for the first time. It’s simple, just a black triangle pointed downwards. Sage notices Ford looking and smiles. 

“Got it ages ago, in high school. Lied to the tattoo artist and everything.”

Ford laughs. Sage’s bra strap covers a piece of the tattoo and Ford can’t figure out why she’s so fixated on that one detail.

She shakes the apprehension off and strips down to her underwear. She rolls the fishnets on and pulls the skirt on overtop of it. 

“I don’t have a shirt,” Ford says. 

“I have one for you, don’t worry,” Sage smiles. 

She pulls out a white collared shirt and hands it to Ford. 

“Maybe hold off on putting it on until we do your makeup. It’s not expensive or anything and it’ll probably get a little messed up tonight, but y’know, you want to look good for pictures.”

“Yeah, totally,” Ford says. 

“You’re okay with that right? Me doing your makeup.”

Ford nods. 

“Cool, uh, you can sit on the bed,” Sage says. 

Ford does what she says and she resists the urge to cross her arms over her chest. Sage digs out a makeup kit and sits on the bed next to Ford. 

“I’m just doing costume makeup, it’s supposed to look kind of goofy,” Sage says. 

Ford nods wordlessly. 

Sage puts one hand on Ford’s shoulder. Ford’s bare shoulder. Ford can feel every atom in Sage’s hand pressing against every atom on Ford’s skin, at least she thinks she can. 

She closes her eyes as Sage taps powder onto her eyes. Sage’s hands are gentle, a little bit hesitant as she moves Ford’s face where she wants it. Ford is rigid, sitting perfectly still, not wanting to move, almost afraid to move. 

“You look good,” Sage finally whispers. She hands Ford a mirror. Ford sees exaggerated eyeliner drawn around her eyes and exaggerated cheekbones and bright red lipstick and it looks so kitschy that it’s good again. She smiles and nods. 

Sage hands her the white button up and Ford slips it on. She leaves the top three buttons open, not how she’d usually wear it, but something inside of her feels bold. Something inside of her wants to be looked at. Sage puts on her costume and finally hands Ford a shiny gold blazer and a party hat. Ford laughs gently, Sage laughs with her. 

“Let’s head out,” Sage smiles, big and bold and confident. She’s wearing some approximation of a sexy maid costume with her hair teased out as far as it can go. 

They take an uber together. Sage’s knee knocks against Ford’s in the backseat. Ford jumps, she feels the jolt in her chest but she doesn’t move away. 

Sage’s friends run up to them, and Ford realizes that when Sage said “abandoned building,” she absolutely meant it. They’re in the middle of nowhere. Everyone else seems to be in costume and people are holding bags of props. 

“It looks like a costume department threw up in here,” Ford says. 

“Isn’t it amazing,” one of Sage’s friends says, she’s tall and blonde and wearing nothing but a matching white lingerie set with heels. 

Ford finds herself being showered in compliments as they’re lead to the picnic blankets that Sage’s friends already have set up. Her eyeliner looks good, the red lip suits her, the fishnets are sexy, the heels make her legs look great. Stuff like that, stuff that surprises her, but feels nice nonetheless. 

Sage grabs Ford’s hand as they weave through a crowd of other people, and Ford’s chest tightens again. That thing starts banging around in there again. 

They sit next to each other on the blanket and one of Sage’s friends brings out a bottle of wine just before the movie starts. Sage puts one arm around Ford and points at a group of people in front of them. 

“They have like every prop, watch them, they know what they’re doing.”

“I have to do things?” Ford asks. 

“You don’t have to, but join in if you want to. It’s all about audience partici….” she pauses, “pation,” and then she laughs, “You’ll get it soon I swear.”

Sage keeps her arm on Ford’s shoulder and that makes Ford feel a little bit special and a little bit scared at the same time. 

And Sage was right, it is fun, and Ford learns her cues and joins in sometimes when people yell lines back at the screen and she’s used to Sage’s arm around her by the end of it and she leans in to laugh and leans in to let Sage explain things to her and it’s all such beautiful wonderful nonsense. 

Her makeup is smudged and running by the time the movie is over and she couldn’t tell you what she just watched, but she could tell you that she had a whole lot of fun doing it. They share another uber back to campus, but they get out at the Stop N’Shop so they can grab some water bottles, something that everyone forgot to bring to the screening. 

The cashier looks them up and down, but it’s Halloween, he’s absolutely seen weirder tonight alone. They chug water bottles on their way back to campus. And as much as Ford wants to go to the Kegster, walking around with Sage seems like a better idea right now. So they go back to Sage’s room and Sage pours a mickey of vodka into their water bottles and then they keep walking around campus. They’re not the only drunk girls stumbling around, but Ford’s pretty sure she’s the only drunk girl who feels like her skin is on fire. 

“I’m so glad you came,” Sage says. 

“I’m really glad I came too,” Ford says. 

“You’re cool,” Sage says. 

“No way, you’re like the coolest person I know.”

Sage blushes and knocks her shoulder against Ford’s. Ford is briefly reminded of Tango. She’d probably be making out with him by now if they were at the Haus. Her chest wouldn’t feel like this, she wouldn’t be smiling. She wouldn’t feel like she was doing something dangerous either. 

Ford takes a deep breath. 

“Are you okay?” Sage asks. 

“Yeah,” Ford says, “Just. Dunno.” she shrugs, “Feeling kinda weird.”

“Oh,” Sage says, “We can get you home then. I know the hockey team parties, but I know if I was sick I’d want my own bed.”

Ford doesn’t dispute the fact that she’s sick. Maybe she is sick. Maybe that’s what’s going on. So Sage walks her home, all the way to the Haus this time. She only stops short of the front steps. 

“I’ll see you around,” Sage says. 

“Yeah,” Ford says. 

Then Sage hugs her and Ford’s hand maybe lingers a little bit too long and it feels weird but it feels right, but… fuck. Ford steps back and gives Sage another small smile. Sage doesn’t leave until she watches Ford disappear into the Haus. 

She goes up the stairs past all the partygoers. Because she does feel tired, and she does feel weird, that part wasn’t a lie. She wants to get the makeup off of her face and the clothes in her hamper before anyone asks her about it. It’s her luck that Whiskey’s standing on the stairs. He grabs her by the arm. 

“Hey, are you good?” he asks. 

Ford shrugs, “Going to bed,” she says. 

“Already?” 

“Tired.” Ford says

And then she runs up the rest of the stairs and up to the attic.

This should be fine. This should all be fine. There’s nothing about this that shouldn’t be fine. She should be able to hang out with her friends without feeling like this. She should be able to make new friends without feeling like she might crawl out of her own skin every time she sees her. 

She sits at her desk with her makeup wipes. She rolls off her stockings and pulls on a pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt. Then she crawls into bed. She doesn’t turn the lights off, just crawls under the covers and pulls them above her head and stares at the wall. If she understood why she felt like this, then she might be able to do something to fix it, but as it stands, she has absolutely no idea what’s going on in her own head. 

“Knock knock,” It’s Tango’s voice, soft and gently

“Did you just _say_ ‘knock knock’” Ford teases. 

“Yeah,” Tango says, “Whiskey told me you weren’t feeling great,” Tango says. 

Ford shrugs. 

“Tired is all,” Ford says. 

“Are you sure?” Tango asks carefully. 

“I dunno. Maybe I’m a little burnt out with auditions and the games and everything else,” Ford says. 

Tango nods. 

“Do you want a hug?” he asks. 

Ford nods. So Tango walks across their room and he crawls into Ford’s bed with her and he hugs her tight to his chest and squeezes. And he’s so warm, he’s always so warm. And the feeling in her chest is still there, that thing trying to get out and she’ll do anything to get rid of it, so she kisses him. That usually makes it go away. Tango kisses back, softly, slowly. He tastes like tub juice and sweat as usual and he lets a soft little moan escape from his lips. 

“Sorry,” he says, his lips centimetres from hers. 

“S’okay,” Ford says

And he kisses her again and this time she lets out a breathy little sigh. She rolls on top of him, she feels in control as she straddles his hips. 

“Is this okay?” she asks. 

Tango nods, his mouth open slightly. 

She presses her lips against his. 

“Been waiting for you to get home,” Tango whispers, “Was hoping maybe…” he trails off. 

“Was hoping what?”

“That you’d want me again,” Tango says, and then he hides his face in her pillow. 

“I do want you,” Ford says immediately. 

“You do?” Tango sounds surprised. 

“Yeah,” Ford says. 

And she does. At least she thinks she does. This feels comfortable and safe and logical. Tango’s always been here, and Tango always will be here. 

“You’re saying what I think you are?” Tango asks. 

Ford nods. She rests her hands on top of Tango’s waistband. 

“Can I?” She asks. 

Tango nods, kind of breathless. 

Ford is not a virgin, she just doesn’t hook up the way Tango and Whiskey do. She’ll go on dates and sometimes she ends up in someone’s bed, but she doesn’t loudly and proudly come in the morning after a walk of shame with deets in had. Usually because there are no deets to give, because well, it’s never great for Ford. It’s not that the guys she goes out with are bad at sex, it’s just… unremarkable. Ford thinks maybe that’s just what sex is supposed to be like. 

So she has sex with Tango. Because if anyone can make sex good it’s him right? Someone she can trust, someone who she really does love, someone who makes her feel good in just about every other way. 

He brushes a strand of hair off of her face and he tells her that she’s beautiful and his mouth hangs open when she takes her bra off. She closes her eyes and runs her fingers over his back.

And. 

It’s fine. Tango doesn’t do anything wrong, but Ford kind of just lies there, giving a performance, a good one, but a performance nonetheless. She feels even weirder now that she did before, with Tango asleep next to her, snuggling against her shoulder. This sucks. She falls asleep next to him. At least he’s warm.


	4. 4

_We hate Tears in Heaven_

_But it's sad that his baby died_

_And we fought about John Lennon_

_Until I cried_

_And then went to bed upset_

* * *

Ford is exhausted again. Auditions went fine. Daniel did most of the casting, which, whatever, Ford doesn’t really care much about what Daniel does. 

The point is, they’ve started rehearsals now on top of the creative team meetings, and the hockey season doesn’t stop and on top of that it’s midterm week next week and Ford has not studied nearly enough. 

She was worried that Tango might look at her a little bit differently after they hooked up, and honestly she should have known that that was a dumb thing to worry about. Tango is Tango and he’s always been there. He still brings her coffee after practice and he still makes sure that she’s eaten at least twice every day. Tango is Tango and Ford loves him. 

Sage keeps texting her and Ford keeps texting back. She just wishes she could get the butterflies in her stomach to go away every time her phone buzzes. Sage is currently quizzing her on her semiotics notes over text while the boys do drills. 

**[Sage 8:12] We should definitely plan a library study session soon**

**[Ford 8:13] Very much agreed.**

**[Sage 8:14] i’m free tonight. Ik you’re schedule’s a mess so i don’t expect you to also be free, but just in case you are**

**[Ford 8:15] I was planning on just studying in my room tonight, so I can definitely move it to the library.**

**[Sage 8:17] I’ll book us a room**

**[Ford 8:18] :D**

Ford’s sitting in the library with Sage. She didn’t sleep nearly enough last night and she keeps getting answers wrong that she clearly should know. Eventually she and Sage give up with the flash cards and try to talk about Ford’s essay question. 

“I don’t think I have a single idea,” Ford says. 

Sage nods knowingly, “You’re just tired is all,” she says. 

Ford feels some kind of siren going off faintly in her head. Sage can recognize when she’s tired. For didn’t tell her that, Sage can see that she doesn’t have it all together. That’s not good. Sage isn’t supposed to see that. Sage can’t see that. 

“Yeah Ford says. Maybe I should just call it a night,” she knows that she won’t, but Sage can’t see her, two energy drinks deep, crying while she tries to cram. 

“Sure,” Sage says, and she starts packing up their flashcards, “I did mean to ask you,” she clears her throat, “Um, we’ve been hanging out for a while and I thought maybe we could actually go to dinner, like somewhere nice,” Sage, usually the most confident person Ford knows, looks down at her shoes and then back up at Ford. 

“Yeah sure,” Ford says, “Text me the deets.”

“Oh, uh, okay! Yeah, great. I will do that,” Sage says. 

When Ford gets home, she sets up her textbooks and her notes at her desk and gets to work. She doesn’t go to bed until nearly 4, and she’s up for practice at 7. She does it again the next night. And the next night, and the night after that. Her concealer works overtime covering the bags under her eyes as she walks in to rehearsal. Ford feels high just about constantly, her memory’s shot and she can’t concentrate on much of anything. But if she doesn’t keep working, she’s absolutely fucked. So she keeps working, sleep be damned. 

Whiskey and Tango ask how she’s doing just about every day, and just about every day she responds all chipper and cheerful, “great!” and she hopes that they buy it. And she’s been texting Sage more and more often. They’re going to go to dinner after Ford finishes all of her midterms, and that should be fun, hanging out with Sage always is. 

“Whiskey I refuse to watch Goon _again!”_ Ford walks into the living room to see Dex, Nursey, Chowder, Tango and Whiskey all standing around the TV with Netflix open. Right, movie night. She forgot about that one

“It’s a classic!” Whiskey protests at Nursey. 

“Dude I watched it with you last weekend, no offense, but it sucks,” Tango says, “Foxy back me up here,” Tango looks at Ford hanging up her jacket. 

“Sucks,” Ford says emphatically. 

“Thank you!” Tango says. 

“Can we just watch the new planet earth?” Chowder asks. 

“Hell no, those things stress me out,” Nursey says. 

“God this is impossible,” Dex says, “I’m hitting shuffle, we’ll get what we get.”

Ford stays for the first five minutes of Happy Gilmore and then heads upstairs. She’s on her way to the attic stairs when Whiskey clears her throat behind her. 

“Can I talk to you for a second?”

And that’s kind of weird but Ford nods and lets herself be ushered into Whiskey’s room. She leans against the wall while he sits on his bed. 

“Did you and Tango have sex?” he asks. 

“What’s it to you?” Ford crosses her arms. 

“So yes?”

“Yes,” Ford admits. 

“Cool. Good for you,” Whiskey says, “I just… he’s been kind of off recently and I didn’t know. Maybe that has something to do with it.”

“He hasn’t seemed off to me,” Ford says.

“Yeah well, I’m around more often.”

There’s no bite to Whiskey’s words, but Ford gets defensive anyway. 

“I’m busy, fuck off.”

“I’m just saying,” Whiskey says, “Have you talked about it. Like what are you to each other? Do you like him _like that_?”

Ford sighs, “Whiskey do we have to have this conversation?”

“Yes,” Whiskey says simply. 

“Why?”

“Because the guy is clearly head over heels for you and he’d do anything for you and I am _pretty_ sure you don’t feel the same way. And stringing him along because you can’t figure out how you feel is a pretty shitty thing to do.”

“Don’t lecture me on relationship advice,” Ford rolls her eyes. 

Whiskey narrows his, “Don’t be mean for no reason. You know I’m right.”

“I-” she starts, “It’s none of your business.”

“It is though,” Whiskey says calmly. “Because you’re two of my best friends. He’d do anything for you, but so would I. Because I love both of you a lot and I know you love both of us and he loves both of us. But he thinks that you’re _in_ love and if you don’t deal with that soon then it’s going to get weirder.”

Ford grits her teeth, she doesn’t know what to say about Whiskey. 

“He thinks he did something to piss you off,” Whiskey says quietly. 

Ford finally feels tears behind her eyes. She fights not to have them spill over, but she loses. 

“I do love him,” Ford says, “And I love you too. It’s just…” she sighs, “Whiskey I don’t know what it is. It’s just something. I don’t know.”

“I can listen.”

“It makes sense,” Ford says. 

“What does?”

“Being with Tango.”

“Explain that to me.”

“Well he likes me so that’s one great thing. And he’s sweet and he’s handsome and strong and warm. And I dunno it just makes sense.”

“Okay you just told me about him. What about you?”

“I-” Ford sighs, “I don’t know. He makes me feel safe and comfortable and all that stuff.”

Whiskey looks pensive. 

“Look, I’m just one guy. And I get what you’re saying. And Tango is all those things, he’s all that stuff you just said. But is that really how you feel when you like someone? No butterflies? No heart skipping a beat? None of that mushy bullshit?”

And Ford thinks. No. That’s not there. Not for Tango at least. Shit. No. Don’t think about that right now. 

She swallows hard and shakes her head. 

“I can’t tell you how you feel,” Whiskey says, “But you should figure it out and tell Tango.”

Ford frowns. 

“What if I don’t know,” she says, voice small. 

“Hmm?”

“I mean. This is how it always feels,” Ford says, “Everytime I date someone, or sleep with someone, or even kiss someone. It always feels like this. Like… like it doesn’t matter one way or the other, like they’re always more into it than I am, or like I’m acting the whole time. And then with Tango, he just seems so safe. Like if I have to kiss someone, it should be him. And safe and warm is the best feeling I could hope for with someone and Tango gave me that and it still feels… hollow.”

Whiskey sighs, “Can I ask you something and you not get offended at me?”

“That depends.”

“You ever kiss a girl, Ford?” 

Ford doesn’t answer. She just stands there, clenches her fist and unclenches it and sputters out, “I- What? I. No? What?”

“Nevermind,” Whiskey says, “Just. You gotta figure this out with Tango.”

Ford doesn’t answer him. She just shakes her head. The nerve. Ford’s not gay. She’s never had any reason to believe she might be. She’s just _not_ that’s not who she is. She slams his door behind her, and by the time she’s in the attic, tears are streaming down her face. She throws her things down on the floor and sits down to study some more. She’s pretty sure she’s read and analyzed the entire works of Sophocles for at least three separate classes now. Maybe she’ll send an email demanding that the department invest in some fresh material. Probably not though. 

_You ever kiss a girl, Ford?_ Whiskey’s words are in her head, permanently now. She’d like to set them on fire and throw away the ashes. _A girl._ The way he’d said it had been so knowing, like he was seeing something she wasn’t. And fuck that. What does Whiskey know about her?

Well a lot. Almost everything actually. He knows the things that she’s told him, and he knows things that she hasn’t, things that he’s assumed and been right about. He knows that she’s afraid of snakes, but not earthquakes, but she did see a movie one time about snakes wreaking havoc on humanity because of earthquakes, and that’s her biggest fear in the world. He also knows that she’s afraid of failing. Not because she told him, but because he is too. Because he saw it in her. The way they work is not the same, Ford spreads herself thin until she has her hand in so many buckets she’s lost count, Whiskey focuses on hockey until everything else falls away, it’s not the same. They do it for the same reasons though. The way Ford and Whiskey talk to each other is different from the way they talk to Tango, because at their core, they’re kind of the same person. Tango’s less complicated. 

_You ever kiss a girl, Ford?_ And he’s wrong about this thing. He can be wrong about this thing. You can’t swing and hit them all. This one has to be wrong. Because Denice Ford has only ever kissed one girl, Abby Shannon in her 11th grade production of “Much Ado About Nothing.” Abby Shannon was a 12th grader and quite a bit taller than Ford (Everyone is) and looking back, Abby was kind of butch, she was muscular and she had short hair and she was on the swim team, that’s why they cast her as Benedick. And Ford had been Beatrice and there had been a scene where they were supposed to kiss. And the director had asked what Ford and Abby were comfortable with and Ford had gotten a little bit blushy and shy and shrugged and it had been Abby who suggested they try it once in rehearsal to see if it might work out. They ran their scene and Ford spent the entire time looking over Abby’s shoulder and when it came time to do the kiss, Ford was as stiff as a board, she didn’t move the entire time. Her hands were pressed to her sides. She didn’t even breathe for fear that she’d move her mouth the wrong way. They laughed about it, decided they’d do the scene without a kiss and moved on. But Ford felt weird for the rest of the day, like her stomach might drop to her knees at any moment. 

So yeah, fuck you Whiskey, Denice Ford has kissed a girl, and she didn’t like it even a little bit. Take that. 

Ford looks back to her homework with her newfound certainty. Her phone buzzes on her desk and she turns it over. 

**[Sage 11:54] Hey i saw this preview for a play and it made me think of you *1 image attached***

Ford looks at the picture and sees a program for a show called “Glory, A hockey Musical,” four women are standing on the stage wearing old timey hockey gear in the middle of what looks like choreography. 

**[Sage 11:55] idk i know you’re kind of into hockey and i know you’re into musicals and the way that they choreographed the hockey dancing parts looked really cool and kind of up your alley**

**[Ford 11:56] woah that does sound cool. I’ll check it out.**

**[Sage 11:57] okay now study. I’m looking forward to dinner with you and i don’t think it will be all that fun if you bomb all your midterms.**

**[Sage 11:58] or go to bed, but you’re not allowed to text me anymore**

**[Ford 12:00] ugh, what if i want to text you**

**[Sage 12:01] i wat to text you too, but we’re making this sacrifice for your gpa**

**[Ford 12:03] Booooo**

**[Sage 12:04] Goodnight Denice.**

**[Ford 12:04] Fine :( goodnight Sage**

Ford does go to bed after that. She’s tired, she’ll admit it, she sets her alarm for an hour earlier than normal so she can squeeze in a couple hours extra of cramming before her first midterm tomorrow. 


	5. 5

_Now I'm dreaming_

_And you're singing at my birthday_

_I've never seen you smiling so big_

_It's nautical themed_

_And there's something I'm supposed to say_

_But can't for the life of me remember what it is_

* * *

Ford has three separate dreams about Abby Shannon, the first is the night after talking to Whiskey, the second comes a day later while she’s trying to nap in between classes and the third, that same night when she passes out in her bed after writing her midterm. 

The dreams always involve that stupid kiss with Abby Shannon, except, they’re doing it in front of an audience. And the more often she has the dream, the more people show up to watch them. Tango’s front and centre every time. The third time she has the dream, there’s a spotlight on Ford and Abby Shannon and when Ford looks up to the tech booth, Sage is standing the operating the follow-spot. And Ford wakes up feeling like she wants to crawl out the window and just stay on the roof for the rest of her life. 

“Hey,” Tango says, when he sees her getting up, he offers her a sweet lopsided smile. 

“Morning,” Ford says, trying not to make it evident that she just woke up from a nightmare. 

“How you feeling?” Tango asks. 

“Midterm today,” she sighs, “Last one though.”

It’s Wednesday, she has a creative team meeting tonight after her midterm and then the team has an away game on Thursday, she has classes on Friday and then dinner with Sage that night. She sighs putting it in order in her own head. 

“Yeah,” Tango says, “Do you want to hang out after? I can pick up lunch or something.”

Ford shakes her head, “I have class and then rehearsal, I wish I could.”

“No worries,” Tango says, “I’ll see you after rehearsal.”

“For sure,” Ford says. 

She gets out of bed and heads downstairs to shower. She makes sure she looks put together before she races across campus to make it in time to write the test. She feels good about it, especially the final essay question which she thinks she offered some good insight on. Sage has given up on telling her not to text in class, because she answers Ford’s messages and congratulates her on finishing the final midterm and then they talk about rehearsal and Ford sits in the back so the prof doesn’t notice her texting and that’s pretty convenient. 

She picks up dinner on the way to rehearsals, stir fry, which other than the chicken tenders is the only reliable thing in the dining hall. 

The studio is cleared of the tables and chairs that had been there for the creative team meetings and the risers are set up. Sage is standing next to the lighting board looking at something while the actors are sitting in the middle of the floor doing some kind of strange breathing exercise that sounds more like moaning than anything else. Ford stands next to Sage. 

“He swears he learned this during his _residency_ in New York. Sounds like an orgy to me.”

Ford stifles her laughter with her hand. 

She spends rehearsal sitting next to Daniel wishing she was sitting next to Sage again, but she has to sit with Daniel and write down his notes while Lakshmy gets to laugh at Sage’s jokes instead. Ford’s jealous, she can admit that she is incredibly jealous of where Lakshmy gets to sit. 

Daniel calls a dinner break halfway through rehearsal and Ford follows Sage outside to the smoking area. She sits on the bench with her takeout container while Sage stands a couple feet away with a cigarette and a protein bar.

“God it’s like he thinks he knows everything,” Sage complains. 

Ford doesn’t have to ask to know she’s talking about Daniel. 

“I know,” Ford says. 

“He thinks he knows better than people who’s literal job it is to make sure things look good. Like if Laksh tells him his dumb set idea won’t work then he should fucking listen.” She gestures, crumbs from her protein bar fly behind her. 

“Fuck, I’m ranting, sorry,” Sage says. She rolls her eyes at herself and puts her cigarette out. She sits next to Ford on the bench and sighs. 

“You ever think about why we do this to ourselves?” Sage asks. 

Ford shakes her head. 

“I think for me it’s the quiet. You know? Just before a performance starts when you’re alone in the tech booth and you can maybe hear someone breathing through the headset, and you can see the audience turning off their phones. And it’s like everyone just settles in, and then boom, you’re in it, and you’re watching something,” Sage says, “That’s cheesy, I know. But thinking about it helps me put up with Daniel.”

Ford nods, “I can see that,” she sighs, “For me, I think it’s making something out of nothing. The fact that none of us could do this alone.”

Sage nods, then she looks up at Ford, she’s staring at her face and it’s quiet. Then Sage clears her throat. 

“Ehm. You have something on your cheek.”

Ford reaches to swipe it away, but judging by Sage’s laugh, she misses it. 

“Let me,” Sage says. 

And then she’s reaching across the bench, and Ford doesn’t flinch as she feels Sage’s fingertips brush against her cheek. Her thumb rests there for an extra second and then she swipes it over Ford’s cheekbone.

“Eyelash,” Sage says, “Make a wish,” Sage says. 

Ford doesn't know what to wish for so she just closes her eyes and pretends and when Sage asks if she wished for something good as she holds up her thumb so that Ford can blow away the eyelash, Ford nods like she did. 

“We should head back inside,” Sage says, “Before Daniel sends a search party.”

Ford laughs and nods. 

Daniel lets rehearsal go half an hour longer than it’s supposed to. Ford’s exhausted as it is, but she’s yawning by the end of it. 

“So are we still on for Friday?” Sage asks as they leave the building together. 

Ford nods, “‘Course we are.”

“Cool,” Sage says. 

“You still haven’t told me where we’re going.”

“It’s a surprise,” Sage says mischievously. 

They’ve managed to solve their _let me walk you home, no let_ **_me_ ** _walk_ **_you_ ** _home_ debate by walking in the same direction for as long as possible until they have to split off. 

“I’ll see you on Friday then,” Ford says. 

“Can’t wait,” Sage smiles. 

“Text me when you get home safe.”

“You too.”

Ford doesn’t find Tango on the couch or in their room, instead, he’s sitting on the roof nursing a beer. So Ford climbs out the window to join him. 

“How was rehearsal?” Tango asks, he hands her a beer of her own, she pops the top off and thanks him. 

“It was fine. Director kept us longer than he needed to though.”

“Brutal,” Tango says. 

A gust of wind picks up and Ford moves closer to Tango, he leans in to keep her warm. She looks up at him and he looks down at her and she looks him in the eyes. And then she kisses him. He wraps both his arms around her and pulls her closer to him. Ford presses herself against the fabric of his shirt. 

“Listen,” he says with a sigh, “I didn’t want to bug you because midterms,” he starts, and Ford thinks she maybe knows where he’s going with this, she looks up at him, still resting against his chest. 

“I like you a lot,” he says, “And you’re a little bit hard to read,” he continues, “So maybe this is out of left field and it’s fine if you don’t want to… but uh,” he says, “I’d really like to be your boyfriend,” he says, his voice is quiet, like he’s waiting for her to shut him down. And she won’t do that to Tango. Of courses she’ll date him, that just makes sense at this point. 

“I’d like that too,” Ford says. 

“Really?” he perks up. 

“Really,” Ford says and she smiles. 

It feels hollow. She shakes it off, she’s just tired. That’s what being tired will do to you. 

She falls asleep in Tango’s bed after she blows him and then swears that she doesn’t need him to do anything in return and that she just wants to go to sleep. 

When they tell Whiskey the next day, he says that he’s happy for them, he claps both of them on the back, but she catches Whiskey looking at her out of the corner of his eye. Like he’s studying her in a particularly sad kind of way. 

Tango lays on the PDA, and Ford doesn’t mind it. She likes holding his hand, or falling asleep with his arm around her on the bus. And really, they were always pretty tactile with each other, this isn’t really anything new, the only difference is that Tango kisses the top of her head when she leaves for class and he does have a distinctly differing “man in love,” kind of look in his eye, as if to say “hey this is my girlfriend! Look at us! We’re so happy!”

He kisses her after they win their away game at Harvard and that’s how the team finds out that they’re officially a thing, because she’s pretty sure it’s the first time anyone has seen them kiss when they weren’t blasted out of their minds. 

Ford falls asleep on the bus with her head resting on Tango’s shoulder, his fingers tracing circles on her arm. 

They both go to sleep in their own beds because the twins are kind of hard to squeeze two people into and they’re both exhausted when they get home. 

Classes drag on on Fridays like they always do, but she makes it through by texting Sage, bugging her for details on where they’re going to go for dinner. Sage doesn’t budge. 

Ford meets her at her dorm after her last class ends at 5 and she hasn't seen Sage with so much nervous energy, well, just about ever. She’s wearing a white t-shirt and a denim jacket over top of a pair of faux leather pants and Ford thinks she looks cool.

The uber takes them off campus and Ford keeps pestering Sage to tell her where they’re going. Sage doesn’t budge. 

Finally, they arrive at a diner. And it looks nice from the outside, but when Ford walks in, it’s covered wall to wall in playbills and pictures from broadway performances, and she can hear showtunes playing faintly over the sound of the restaurant. 

“Oh wow,” Ford says, “This is amazing.”

“I thought you’d like it,” Sage grins, “You have to get a milkshake.”

They’re seated and they order right away because Sage has everything all planned out. They start with milkshakes and a plate of fries, because they both agree that dipping french fries in ice cream is one of life’s few pleasures. Ford gets a strawberry milkshake and Sage gets chocolate, but they keep switching drinks so that they can try each other’s, and eventually, Ford moves around to the other side of the booth so that they can sit together without having to reach. Sage’s shoulder bumps into hers and Ford feels that jolt between them again. 

“I am amazed that you survived this week, honestly,” Sage says after Ford tells her about the away game at Harvard. 

Ford just shrugs, “Honestly I just say I’ll do things and then I do them. I dunno. I’m tired but I don’t think I could function any other way.”

“I get that,” Sage says. 

When they’re standing outside waiting for their uber after splitting the bill, Sage holds out her jacket for Ford, who had been shivering in the cold. Her thin blouse had been warm enough when the sun was still out, but now, after a four hour long dinner, it’s gotten dark. Ford accepts gratefully. She notices how the jacket smells like cigarettes and sandalwood. She can’t say she minds that.

Sage looks at her and then back down at her shoes. Before either of them says anything, the car pulls up. Ford gets dropped at the Haus before Sage gets dropped at her dorm. 

“I had a really good time,” Sage says. 

“Me too,” Ford agrees and she feels warm and tingly in her chest. 

“Oh, uh, you’re jacket,” Ford says, and she shrugs it off, handing it back to Sage. 

Sage accepts it and then spends a second with her gaze lingering on Ford. 

“I’ll see you at rehearsal,” Sage says. 

Ford smiles to herself as she walks up the stairs to the Haus and up to her room. 

Tango has taken to walking her to class, it’s a reason for him to slip her hand into his, she suspects. She likes the company. He also decides, on Sunday night, that he’s going to walk her to the creative team meeting. 

They hold hands across the campus and they talk about nothing in particular, a little bit about Whiskey and how he’s on again with Chad, a little bit about the show which is supposed to open at the end of the month. 

Tango stops just short of the arts building and puts one hand on Ford’s shoulder. He pulls her in for a hug. 

“Break a leg,” he says. 

And then he kisses her, and she stands on her toes to kiss back.

“See you in a couple hours,” Ford says.

As she walks away from Tango and into the studio space, she sees Sage flicking the ash from her cigarette onto the ground. She looks at Ford, but when she notices Ford looking back, she looks away. She walks into the building without waiting for Ford like she usually would. She doesn’t so much as say hello to her. 

Sage doesn’t talk to her for the whole of rehearsal, not even when Daniel calls a break and Ford heads out to the smoking area and Sage isn’t there. The only thing she says to Ford is, “thanks,” when Ford writes down a lighting cue and adds it to Sage’s binder. 

When Ford walks out of the arts building after rehearsal, she finds Tango waiting for her, grinning all big and eager. She jogs a little bit to hug him. She walks home with Tango that night. 

Rehearsals carry on and Sage hasn’t texted her in a week and a half. If Ford could figure out what she’s done wrong, then she’d apologize, but she can’t figure it out. Rehearsals really start ramping up in the third week of November, tech week starts on Monday, which means that Ford has permission from half of her professors and the hockey coaches to miss her other responsibilities and spend every waking moment in the theatre, which she does. She pulls 12 hour days to make sure this thing comes together and when she gets home, she does her homework and passes out. 

Sage is still not talking to her. 

It’s fine, she has other things to worry about, like finding the right makeup to paint laugh lines on the face of the girl they have playing big Allison and making sure that the girl who plays Helen doesn’t spill coffee on her skirt again. 

“I’m going for a smoke!” Sage announces loudly after they’ve run the first half of the show. 

“Fine!” Daniel shouts back, and he looks at Ford. 

“What?” she says. 

“You’re not going too?”

“I don’t smoke,” Ford says simply. 

“Whatever,” Daniel says and he looks at her with a raised eyebrow. 

She makes it to Wednesday before having her first breakdown. Breakdowns are part of tech week, they’re to be expected. Tango is working on a project with Dex in the computer lab, so Ford’s alone when it happens. She just starts crying, so tired, but she can’t go to sleep, frustrations boil over and there are hot tears streaming down her face. Everything feels hot, the room feels suffocating. She’d go for a walk if it weren’t the middle of the night. She settles to sit on the roof in the reading room with her legs tucked up to her chest. 

She hears the window open behind her. 

She knows from the way that he doesn’t immediately offer a hug that it’s Whiskey and not Tango who joins her on the roof. 

“Crying time?” Whiskey asks. 

Ford nods, “I’m so tired.”

“I saw all the empty red bull cans in the bin. Worried your heart might explode honestly,” he says dryly. 

Ford laughs through a sob. 

“If it helps, I think you’re doing a really good job,” he says. 

“It doesn’t feel like it,” she wipes her tears away with her sleeves. 

“It never does,” Whiskey sighs. 

“There’s so much going on and I don’t feel like I understand any of it. I don’t feel in control. And I miss hanging out with everyone so much, but if this show falls apart then it’s on me.”

“It’s not all on you. Isn’t your director kind of an asshole?”

“They all are, it comes with the territory” Ford says. 

“Tango and I are both here for you,” Whiskey says. 

“I know,” Ford says. 

“You just hate asking for help,” Whiskey finishes her thought. 

“I do,” Ford admits. 

“We’re the same dumbass, huh?” Whiskey laughs at both of them in the same measure.

“I think I did something to someone on the creative team to piss her off, but I’ve been racking my brain and I can’t figure out what it was,” Ford says, “Any ideas?”

“I don’t know any of your theatre friends,” Whiskey says. 

“Her name is Sage. She’s the one I was always hanging out with for a while there.”

“Oh,” Whiskey says, “Yeah, girl who kept blowing up your phone, right?”

“That’s her,” Ford says. 

“I dunno, did you say something to her?”

“No!” Ford says, “Nothing! We were fine on Friday and then on Sunday she didn’t even want to look at me.”

“What’s significant about Friday?”

“We hung out,” Ford says, “Got dinner together. It was actually really nice. She picked this cool diner with like, broadway stuff as decoration and we just talked for hours.”

Whiskey raises an eyebrow, “Uh,” he says. 

“What?”

“Ford, are you sure that wasn’t a date?”

“What? No way,” Ford says, “We’re just friends. And I’m dating Tango.”

“Did she know that?”

“Well no.”

“And you met her friends on Halloween, right? When you were dressed up in that sexy weird costume?”

“I mean the costume was her idea and the makeup was weird because she did it that way on purpose.”

“Yeah, you’re proving my point here.”

“There’s no way,” Ford says. 

“Well does she flirt with you?”

“I don’t think so,” Ford says, “We talked a lot,” she shrugs. 

And then it sort of hits her. There are only two other people she’d text after midnight, no one else she’d let do her makeup. She hasn’t been as interested in the words coming out of someone’s mouth as she was with Sage. That fascination with this girl… could it be?

And then Ford is crying again and Whiskey hesitantly extends his arm and gingerly pats her shoulder. 

“I hate you!” She shouts, “I fucking hate you,” she says, “I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t even be thinking about it if you hadn’t put that idea in my head. If you hadn’t…”

She’s shouting at him, but she buries her face in his t-shirt and keeps his arm around her. 

“She’s just cool, I like hanging out with her because she’s cool and she says interesting things and we have common interests and that kind of stuff and it’s exciting to talk to her, but sometimes I get this feeling that I’m going to be sick or scream when I’m around her and when she touches me it’s like her hands are buzzing. It’s… we’re just friends.”

“Foxy can you please listen to the words you’re saying?” Whiskey says. 

Ford shakes her head, “But Tango.”

“Do Tango’s hands ever feel like they’re buzzing?”

Ford shakes her head again. 

“I’m not a feelings guy, you know that. But… okay. This is weird for both of us. But we both love Tango.”

Ford nods, that fact is undisputed. 

“But are you actually _attracted_ to him?”

“He’s hot,” Ford says simply, and he is, he’s tall and he plays hockey and he has big blue eyes and fluffy brown hair, that’s what hot boys look like 

“But do _you_ think that?”

“I guess so.”

“You shouldn’t have to guess,” Whiskey whispers.

And then Ford is crying again and she decides to tell Whiskey about Abby Shannon and the dreams and why she decided to kiss Tango in the first place and how sometimes when Sage texts her she gets butterflies again and how she feels so stupid for all of this, because once again, she’s not gay. 

“What if you are?” Whiskey asks, “Would that be the worst thing?”

“I’m just not,” Ford says, “If I was, shouldn’t I know by now?”

Whiskey shrugs, “How were you supposed to know?”

“I don’t know, don’t you just always know.”

Whiskey lowers his voice again, “I didn’t.”

And they don’t talk much about Whiskey’s sexuality. He just does his thing and Tango and Ford will support him. She knows that he has a girlfriend in Arizona and that they have some kind of agreement. She also knows that something’s going on with Chad L. but she’s also seen him slip up to his room with girls and boys before. 

“It wasn’t until freshman year that I figured out I liked… that I’m bi,” he says, “It’s easy to ignore when you don’t want to go looking for it.”

Ford squeezes her eyes shut to keep more tears from spilling out. 

“So if I am,” Ford says, “If I am, then what do I do?”

“You’ve gotta tell him,” Whiskey says, “Even if it’s just that you need to break up. You’ve gotta.”

“What if he hates me,” her voice is small. 

“I don’t know if he could.”

“I know that there’s nothing wrong with it,” Ford says, “I just… don’t want things to change.”

Whiskey takes her hand and squeezes, “You’ll be fine. Okay?”

Ford shakes her head. 

“I don’t know if I can.”

Whiskey sighs, he rests his chin on top of her head, “Get some sleep.”

Ford would call herself a coward. Because it’s been a week and she still hasn’t told Tango. The more she thinks about it, the more it makes sense, that she could be… maybe… sort of… you know. The weird mixed up feelings for Sage, whatever Abby Shannon symbolized in her dreams. She doesn’t do it because every time she comes close she thinks about how much she likes it when Tango holds her hand or cuddles up next to her in bed. Is she attracted to him? She can’t tell, but she does love him. 

Tech week carries on and Ford’s exhausted, but so is everyone else working on the show. It’s starting to come together. The rehearsals run smoothly, and when it’s time for the dress, everyone’s confident. 

It’s opening night and Ford’s heart is pounding in her chest. In an hour, there’s going to be an audience, and they’ll see what they’ve been working on for the first time. The team is coming tonight, well not Louis and Hops, but they promised they’ll come tomorrow. The actors are in costume and Angela is making a couple last minute adjustments, they’re all caked in stage makeup. Ford is wearing a simple black dress with black tights and a black hair bow, she’s not there to be seen. The cast and crew huddles up just before the house opens and everyone takes their places.

“I just want to tell you all how insanely proud I am,” Daniel says to everyone in the room. There’s a huddle of actors, and the creative team and the stagehands. And Ford remembers why she puts herself through this. 

It’s about making something where there wasn’t anything before. 

“I know I can be kind of a pain in the ass, but we’ve all done an amazing job, and I am forever grateful for it.”

And Ford won’t forgive Daniel for being an ass, but she doesn’t hate him either. It’s hard to hate someone you’ve spent every waking moment with. Ford looks across the huddle at Sage, Sage meets her gaze and then looks down. 

“Denice do you have any words of stage manager wisdom?” Daniel asks. 

“Just keep doing what you’re doing. Don’t touch anyone else’s props, listen for your cues,” she says, then she takes a breath, “And enjoy it. We’ve all worked so hard and now it pays off.”

“Can’t wait to take a three day nap,” Lakshmy jokes. 

“You and me both babes,” Daniel grins. 

Daniel pats her on the shoulder and the huddle breaks up. Ford finds her spot backstage and slips on her headset. This is what she does best. She has her call book in front of her, every single cue is organized just the way she wants it to be. 

“Let’s do this,” she whispers into the microphone. 

“Sound, can you hear me?” she asks. 

“Yep,” TJ, the sound operator checks in. 

“Wardrobe?”

“Reporting for duty,” Angela says. 

Ford laughs. 

“Front of house?”

“We’ve got a sold out crowd,” Peter, the head usher says. 

“Lighting?” Ford says, her voice is a little bit smaller, knowing who she’s talking to. 

“Here,” Sage’s voice crackles through the headset. 

Ford feels light, a little bit jittery. She likes problems with simple answers. “I broke a prop?” “Oh let me fix it?” “My costume won’t zip?” “I have safety pins” “This light blew in the middle of the show,” “Okay we’ll improvise and use another one.” Ford is good in a crisis, just not personal ones that involve herself. 

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. 

“Letting them in now,” Peter says. 

“House lights are up,” Sage says. 

There are actors standing behind her, Ford can see them all bouncing on their feet. 

They always wait five minutes after the advertised start time, Daniel says it builds suspense, Ford says it gives everyone a chance to breathe. There’s no Daniel telling her what to do now though. It’s just Ford, Ford gets to start this. 

“Show time,” Ford whispers, and then she calls her first cue.

Ford keeps her voice low as she directs the flow of actors. It runs so smoothly, everyone’s mics stay in place and the performance is heart wrenching and heartwarming as it’s supposed to be. There’s a part of the show, with no cues to call. The girl playing medium Allison springs out of her bed wearing a pair of boxer shorts with a tank top on. That gets a laugh out of the audience. The entire song is funny, in a sweet kind of way. Ford hasn’t really listened to the song, not looking for meaning anyway. But she does now, because she has time and she can appreciate it. And her heart sinks. Because the song is about sex, specifically about having sex with a girl. For the first time. About being so obsessed, so enthralled, so _validated_ that Allison gets ahead of herself and makes all kinds of grand gestures and statements. And then Ford hears the actor sing the line, “I’m radiating happiness,” and she finds her mind wandering. Is that how it’s supposed to feel. Ford loses herself in her thoughts, she finds herself looking past the curtain to the lighting booth. Sage. The audience claps at the end of the song and Ford snaps herself out of it to call the next cue. 

The show gets a standing ovation as they take their bows and Ford feels like she’s built something. It feels good… but something feels off. Because this moment is supposed to feel complete, but in her head, it feels like there’s something else she’s supposed to do, like _she’s_ the problem. 

The house lights come up and Ford helps to reset the stage for the next night. Sage is nowhere to be found. That’s fine, that’s good even. 

And then she runs out into the front of house and she sees the team and Tango runs towards her and she runs towards him and they’re both smiling. He presents her with a bouquet of flowers and then a hug so tight that he picks her up off the ground. He puts his arm around her shoulder. Whiskey gives her a hug too, but there’s something hesitant about her touch. Something in his eyes. _There’s something you have to do._ Ford doesn’t want to do it. 

“I’m so proud of you,” Tango says and he kisses the top of her head as Nursey insists that they take a picture together.

“You’re amazing,” Tango says. 

She can’t tell him now. Not tonight, not when he looks so happy and in awe and Ford just wants to bask in this feeling. The relief of opening night, the anticipation for the second show, the embrace of her teammates. 

Tango slips his hand into hers and he holds it like he’s proud to let everyone know that _his_ girlfriend did that. They walk out of the theatre together with the rest of the team following behind them. The cast party is after closing night, but Nursey insists that they order pizza and have a few beers to celebrate opening at the Haus. He tells her to invite her “theatre friends” but she tells him that partying with the cast before closing night is bad luck. It’s the truth, it’s also an excuse. As they walk away from the theatre, Ford gets a whiff of cigarette smoke. Sage. Her head turns in the direction of the smell, and sure enough, there she is, ripped black jeans and a black hoodie, leaning against the wall. 

Sage isn’t looking at her like she’s angry, or even upset. 

No. Ford sees pity. 

_Liar_ her eyes seem to say. 


	6. 6

_And if I could give you the moon_

_I would give you the moon_

* * *

There’s so much pizza on the kitchen table and Ford quickly learns that when Nursey said “a few beers,” he meant, approximately 6 beers each and tequila shots. They do the tequila shots first, with the salt and the lime and everything. And the boys cheer and Tango kisses her on the mouth. 

_Liar._

“Okay, so you’ve gotta tell me,” Nursey slurs a few hours later, “How did they do that costume change?”

“A lot of velcro,” Ford says. 

“Like that’s what you were thinking about,” Dex scoffs, “Man cried pretty much the entire time.”

“It’s a really moving story!” Nursey protests, “Like, Allison Bechdel, man. What a funky lesbian.”

Everyone laughs at Nursey, everyone except Ford. When she realizes she’s not the only one laughing, she quickly joins in, maybe a bit too loud because Whiskey gives her the same look he’s been giving her for weeks. 

“You’re such an english major,” Chowder says, “But Nursey’s right. There were some tearjerkers for sure.”

“I’m amazed the school let you put on a show that was so gay,” Nursey says. 

“It’s Samwell dude, fuck are you on about?” Dex snorts. 

“Yeah but Samwell is like, _The Prom_ gay not _Fun Home_ gay.”

“I don’t see the distinction.”

“That’s because you don’t appreciate art.”

“I appreciate your musical appreciation,” Ford says and clinks her glass against Nursey’s. It feels empty.

Ford’s shoulders hunch in on her. She takes a long sip of her beer. The room’s spinning, just a little bit, it makes her stomach churn. 

She stands up, walks to the kitchen to get water and breathes heavily, hands holding her up against the counter. 

She downs the water and shakes her head. It’s fine. She checks her phone. There are a few messages from other members of the crew, thanking her, asking questions about tomorrow. She ignores all of them in favour of the most recent message. 

**[Sage 11:30] I’m making a little change to the lighting during Helen’s Etude, nothing major, just a bit more backlighting, it won’t change the way you call the cue, just wanted to let you know.**

Ford sucks in a breath. It’s the most mundane, asinine text she’s received from Sage, and yet, she can’t stop looking at it. She wants more, she wants to hear more of what she has to say, she wants to see her smile again. She wants to say that she’s sorry for whatever she’s done to her. To sit there and listen while she goes off about a movie that she saw, or Tennesse Williams and the history of queer theatre. Ford never thought Sage was straight, Ford’s not stupid. But she never registered that she herself was the kind of girl Sage might look twice at. 

**[Ford 12:07] Sounds good. You know what works best. Good show. See you tomorrow :)**

**[Sage 12:08] See you tomorrow.**

Ford walks back into the living room. She yawns, Tango’s sitting on the floor, she puts her hand on top of her head. 

“I’m going to bed, you coming soon?” she says. 

Tango nods, “Yeah I’ll come up.”

Nursey whistles at them. There was perhaps a time when Whiskey would have joined in, but he’s sitting on the couch with his knees crossed underneath of him. He looks at Ford and Ford hates the way he looks at her, so much. It’s not anger or judgement and she knows that Whiskey’s not judging her, but there is pity. And Ford hates that. Because she knows that maybe he’s right. This is pitiful. 

This is pathetic. This hurts. 

Ford walks up the stairs and Tango follows her and they brush their teeth in the bathroom together and then they walk up the stairs to the attic. Ford’s hand grazes Tango’s. The door shuts behind them and she feels Tango’s arms wrapping around her waist. He hoists her off the ground and spins her around. She lets out a surprised yelp. 

“I’m so proud of you,” he says and her feet hit the floor again, “I know I already said it, but I want to say it just to you.”

“We’re not done yet,” Ford says quietly. 

Tango cranes his neck so that he can fit their mouths together. Ford leans into it. And this isn’t so bad, this is fine. She wraps her arms around the back of his neck and he picks her up, she wraps her legs around his waist. Fuck it, she thinks. Why not do this? She kisses him back like she has something to prove, her nails scratching at the back of his neck. He takes a step towards the bed and they fall down on top of each other. Tango’s hands are on her thighs and they’re hiking up her dress and he’s looking at her. She likes being looked at, like she’s worth looking at. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Tango says, he runs his hands over the curve of her hip. 

She tries even harder to lean into it. She squeezes her eyes shut. 

“Is this okay?” Tango asks, his hands skirt the hem of her dress. 

And that’s a normal thing to ask, he asks every time, and she usually just nods, or moves his hand for him. But she pauses. Because… is it? Is this okay?

And on one level, of course it’s okay, they’re two consenting adults who’ve done this before. On the other hand. What if Ford is… well. You know. What then. 

Tango senses something immediately and moves his hand. 

“Are you okay?” He asks. 

Ford comes back to herself quickly. Of course she’s okay. This is fine, she can do this. 

“Yeah she says. Spaced out, it’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” He asks.

She hunches over to kiss him, moves his hands back to her thighs, “I promise, I’m good.”

“Okay,” he says, he gives her a strange look and then he continues moving his hand up her thighs. He squeezes. Her dress is rucked up almost to her chest. Ford feels herself go stiff. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Tango says. 

“Jeez, I’m fine,” Ford says. 

“I’m serious,” Tango says, “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. Is something wrong? Are you tired?”

“I’m fine,” Ford says more insistent. 

“Do you want to switch positions? Are you good on top?”

“It’s fine.”

“Okay,” Tango says, and he runs his hand over the waistband of her underwear and she shivers. 

“We can talk about it if there’s something going on,” Tango says, so fucking earnest it hurts, “Are you sore? I know you’ve been on your feet forever, we can like, switch positions? Or am I right? Are you tired? We did eat a lot of pizza, is that it?”

“Enough of the fucking questions,” Ford clenches her fists and looks away from him. 

“Woah,” Tango says, and he sits up. 

Ford gets off of him and moves so she’s sitting on the bed next to him. 

“I don’t know,” she shouts, and then she lowers her voice to a hiss, “I don’t know the answers to any of your fucking questions, okay?” she says. 

“Hey,” Tango says gently, and he puts his hand on her arm. 

“Was it the play? We can talk about it? Was that guy a dick again?”

“What did I _just_ say,” she says. 

“I-” Tango says, and his eyes are glassy now, “I just want to give you what you want. What do you want?”

“I don’t know!”

She aches inside, but she gets up anyway and walks across the room. She readjusts her dress and walks out of the room. She lets the door slam on her way out. 

There’s too much. There’s too much going on inside of her head, too many things that she told herself she’d think about later are now rearing their ugly heads and demanding to be thought about. She wants to be sick. She wants to leave, she wants to scream. She just wants to take a breath. She does none of those things. The Haus is dark. No one’s downstairs anymore. She doesn’t know what to do. So she knocks on Whiskey’s door. 

“What’s up?” He asks. 

“I can’t sleep in the attic tonight,” she says. 

“Wah?” Whiskey mumbles, he rubs his eyes and he looks at Ford. 

“Did something happen. With Tango?”

And Ford feels the tears welling in her eyes before she feels them spilling over her cheeks and she’s nodding and Whiskey’s opening his arms so that she can walk right into them. 

“Oh god,” Ford sobs into his t-shirt, “I fucked up.”

“What did you do?” Whiskey asks quietly.

“I don’t know,” Ford says, “He had all these questions and I couldn’t answer. And I just… is it bad that I just wanted to get it over with? I like being wanted, but I don’t know what I want.”

Whiskey sighs. 

If this doesn’t work with Tango? Who the hell is it supposed to work with? Sage. That’s the answer. Or Abby Shannon, or Lardo who… yeah, maybe that had been a thing that she decided not to think about at the time. She has the answer, it’s sitting right there in front of her. She doesn’t want that to be the answer. It’s not that easy. Can it be that easy?

“Borrow one of my hoodies, there’s a pair of your pajama pants in my drawer, got messed up with the laundry.”

“Thanks,” Ford sniffles, “You can have my bed tonight,” Whiskey says. She gets changed and then crawls under Whiskey’s covers and she’s struggling to catch her breath, it feels like there’s something sitting on her chest and she sobs. Denice Ford is a lesbian. She thinks about it. Closes her eyes, mouths the words. And then she’s wheezing and she’s sobbing because she knows it’s true.

Whiskey’s next to her in a second, “Just breathe,” he says firmly. 

She tries to listen. Trying not to panic that she’s not getting enough air. She’s supposed to be the organized one, the one who has her shit sorted out, the one who holds someone else’s hand during a panic attack, not the one whose hand is held. 

“I’m gonna be sick,” she says and she springs up and out of Whiskey’s bed and she runs across the hallway into the bathroom and she’s on the floor and she’s retching. Beer, pizza, and tequila. It wasn’t the alcohol that made her sick and maybe that’s more embarrassing. She hears muffled noises. 

“Ford?” Whiskey finally says, “It’s me, can I come in.”

“Yeah,” she says, throat hoarse. 

“And uh, Tango came down.”

“Whatever,” Ford says, “Come in.”

She’s leaning against the vanity and her chest is heaving and her mouth tastes like puke. 

Tango crouches down next to her and hands her a water bottle, Whiskey’s standing in the doorway. 

“Why are you here,” she says, “I just yelled at you.”

“Heard you throwing up,” Tango says, and then he shrugs. 

“Thanks,” Ford says and she takes a long gulp of water. 

“I’m sorry,” Ford says after she catches her breath. 

“I’m gonna… you two should talk. I’ll be in my room if you need me,” Whiskey says. 

Ford nods. 

She has to tell him. She has to. 

“I-” She starts. 

She feels nauseous and before the sentence is out of her mouth, she’s throwing up again, mostly water this time. 

Tango hands her the water bottle and she downs the rest of it, leans against the vanity and tries to catch her breath. 

“I think I might be gay,” she finally says. 

She keeps her eyes closed. There’s silence in the bathroom, she can hear the drip of the faucet and nothing else. She opens her eyes and Tango’s looking at her with wide eyes and a deep set frown. It’s so hard to make Tango frown, and here she is, doing just that. 

“What do you mean you think?” He says she can tell he’s trying to keep his tone even. 

“I don’t know,” she says. 

She doesn’t know what to say or how to say it without hurting his feelings. 

“I don’t know any of it. I don’t understand and I don’t…” she trails off, “I’m so sorry,” she says and her voice is small. 

“Don’t apologize,” Tango says and his voice sounds like it might break. 

He slides off the edge of the bathroom and down onto the floor and sits shoulder to shoulder with Ford. 

“I’m just confused,” Tango says. 

Ford nods, she squeezes her eyes shut. 

“I thought that this… us. I thought that’s what you wanted. You kissed me first.”

“I think,” Ford says, “I thought that’s what I wanted too. I just-” she cuts herself off, “It’s like. I love you so much. And you’ve always been here for me and I thought… I thought it made sense. I thought that’s what I wanted.”

“Do you know what you want now?” Tango asks.

“I don’t.”

Tango sighs. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Ford says, “And I’m so sorry.”

“Stop apologizing,” Tango says, this time it’s firm. 

“You’re the best boyfriend I could have asked for, I should be a better girlfriend.”

Tango presses his head against hers. She can feel tears running down his face and that’s what does it. She cries. 

“I knew something was wrong,” Tango says, “I thought you were just stressed.”

“I mean I am,” Ford says. 

They both laugh, tears and snot running down their faces. It’s gross. 

“I’ve fucked some things up,” Ford says, “I just maybe…” she sighs, “Maybe I’m not and I’m just tired and in the morning we can go back to being a happy little couple.”

“No,” Tango says, “If I could give you that I would,” he says. 

“What if I’m not,” Ford says, “Please, can you just humour that?”

“What if you are?”

“I just never thought that was me. I’m not like, repulsed by the idea of men, it just doesn’t…”

“It’s different?” Tango asks. 

She breaths shaky, “I feel like… you have no reason to be this nice to me.”

“You do everything for us. You’ve always been here for me. I’m here for you too.”

“What does it feel like when you have a crush on someone?” Ford asks, her voice small. 

Tango grabs her hand and squeezes. 

“It’s different for everybody. I think though, Ithink they just become the most interesting person in the world, and the most beautiful and funny. And really exciting. I had a crush on you Sophomore year.”

“Not anymore?”

“It started back then. It was… stronger.”

“Does it feel like… like you’re nervous, but you still want to be around them?”

“Yeah,” Tango says. 

“I never felt that way about you,” Ford says quietly and it’s a revelation, “About any boys.”

Tango looks down at his hands. 

“I’m so comfortable with you, always have been. Maybe it’s because well…” she looks down at the way their shoulders are touching. 

Tango nods, “We’ve always been pretty touchy-feely, huh?”

“Thought that’s because you had a crush on me.”

“Why’d you think that?”

“It’s what Whiskey said.”

“That shithead,” Tango mutters, “I mean yes, at one point, I did have a crush on you, but you’re my best friend. You were always going to be that first.”

“That’s kind of a relief,” Ford says. 

“I’m sorry that you ever thought you had to worry about that.”

“It’s not your fault,” Ford says. 

Tango shrugs. 

“I don’t know how to say this without like, making you sad,” Ford says. 

“I’m not sad,” Tango says.

“Shouldn’t you be?”

“Are you planning on moving out of the attic? And leaving our friendship?”

“Well no,” Ford says. 

“Then I’m not sad.”

“I don’t know. It’s just… attraction, and boys and maybe that doesn’t do it for me, but I feel so selfish because you seemed really happy when we were together and don’t I have enough?”

“I think I have a crush on a girl,” Ford says. 

Tango nods. 

“I feel like a fucking idiot,” she says. 

“You’re not,” Tango says. 

Ford sighs deeply, “Wish I realized sooner.”

“You could’ve been kissing girls this whole time,” Tango teases. 

“How are you taking this so well?” Ford asks, “I just broke up with you.”

Tango nods, “I want you to be happy,” he says, “And I was always going to be your friend first.”

“I don’t deserve you,” Ford says. 

“You do, actually,” Tango says and he lets her crawl into his lap and rest her head against his chest and cry. 


	7. 7

_You are sick, and you're married_

_And you might be dying_

_But you're holding me like water in your hands_

_When you saw the dead little bird, you started crying_

_But you know the killer doesn't understand_

* * *

  
  


“Sage!” Ford calls. 

It’s two days after closing night and they just finished striking their set and putting everything away. Sage is walking away, ignoring Ford. 

“Sage!” Ford shouts again. She jogs to catch up with her 

“Hey, please,” Ford says, turning around so that she’s walking backwards as Sage is walking forwards. 

“Denice,” Sage says, “I’m trying to get home.”

“I just want to talk to you,” Ford says. 

Sage’s expression is cold, hard, steely. 

“I don’t want to,” Sage says. 

“I’m a mess,” Ford says, “And I’m sorry if my mess hurt you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sage says. 

“It was my fault for not realizing. When we went out for dinner, that was a date, right?”

Sage grits her teeth, “Listen, you don’t have to pity me okay. It’s my fault for thinking I had a chance, because obviously you’re straight, obviously you’re dating a golden retriever boy with fluffy brown hair who plays hockey.”

“I’m not straight,” Ford whispers. 

“What?” Sage asks. 

Ford feels her shoe catch on a crack in the sidewalk, still walking backwards and she realizes too late to stop her fall and she falls backwards onto the cement, directly onto her ass. Sage just looks down at her. 

“I said I’m not straight,” Ford says. 

“Oh so you just don’t like me and make out with hockey players for laughs?” Sage says, she starts to step around Ford. 

“No!” Ford says, “I just… I didn’t know.”

Sage stops, “What do you mean you didn’t know.”

“I’m still trying to figure it out, I did some reading and it’s not that uncommon, I just assumed that everyone else feels the same way I do. You make my heart skip beats, Sage. I’ve got a crush on you,” she says, still sitting on the ground. 

Sage extends her hand and helps Ford to her feet. 

“This is a lot for me,” Sage says. 

“I understand,” Ford says, “I was dating that boy. It’s because he’s my best friend and I guess I felt like that was the next step. And maybe I was trying to prove to myself that I liked him, I was tricking myself into it. And the whole time I was crushing on you.”

Sage sighs. They’re both standing still in the middle of the sidewalk. Ford doesn’t have anything else to say. Sage takes a deep breath in and a step forward. She puts one hand on Ford’s cheek and the other on her waist and Ford nods. 

Sage’s lips are rough and chapped and there’s a callous on her thumb. She tastes like cigarettes and the pizza that Daniel had ordered them all for lunch. But she feels like a revelation. Like something exciting. And Ford feels the twist in her stomach that she recognizes. Ford stands on the tips of her toes trying to get a better angle and she never wants this to stop. That song from the show makes a lot more sense now. 

“You should let me take you on a real date,” Ford says, “Now that I know that’s what it is,” She’s out of breath as she talks. 

Sage nods, “I’ll text you.”

They’re on the road, for their last game before the exam break, and they’re playing Brown. Ever since last year's championship, they’ve hated Brown. A win against them means more than a win against any other team. Ford’s sitting in the stands, she’s logged into the SMH twitter account, livetweeting goals. So far, it’s 5-4 for Brown with three minutes left. Ford’s chewing the inside of her cheek in nervousness. And then Whiskey scores and their bench erupts in cheers, Tango’s loudest of all, and Ford is sitting right behind them and she grins and she types out a quick tweet. They have two minutes left, and Ford crosses her fingers, secretly hoping that Samwell scores soon so that they don’t go to overtime. 

“Come on, come on, come on,” she mutters under her breath, Dex has the puck on his stick, and he’s looking around like a caged animal, trying to find a pass. He finds Bully. Bully rips a slapshot and buries it. Ford feels the crowd around her sighing, there are a few jeers, but she cheers just as loudly as the boys on her bench. 

Sometimes, she’s so tired, she’s so behind on her schoolwork, that she wonders why she keeps this job, why she doesn’t just focus on school and theatre full time. And then something like this happens, and she feels like she’s a part of a moment. And the moment is worth it. 

She sits on her own on the bus, Tango falls asleep in the seat behind her, Whiskey’s next to him with his head resting against the window. Ford’s using the extra seat next to her to work on some readings and spread her notebook out. She feels her phone vibrate in her pocket and slides it out. 

**[Sage 9:37] Hey, what are you up to?**

**[Ford 9:38] On the bus, on the way home from Brown**

**[Sage 9:39] Oh. How long? Are you busy after?**

**[Ford 9:40] about 20 minutes away from Samwell. I’m not busy.**

**[Sage 9:43] So I was wondering if maybe you wanted to come over to my room? I don’t have any exams so I’m heading home early and I want to say goodbye to you.**

Ford doesn’t even have to think about her answer. 

**[Ford 9:44] See you in 20 minutes**

Ford grabs her backpack and rushes off the bus. 

“Where are you going?” Whiskey asks

“Going to meet up with Sage,” she says. 

Wiskey raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, maybe,” Ford says instead of telling him to fuck off. 

“Get it, Foxy,” Tango pats her on the shoulder. 

And Ford walks across campus as fast as she possibly can without sprinting. 

“Hi,” she says when Sage opens the door. 

“Are you out of breath?” Sage asks. 

“A little,” Ford admits. 

“Come in,” Sage says. 

Ford stands awkwardly in the doorway. 

“You can come further in,” Sage says. 

Sage sits on the bed and pats the space next to her 

“I really did just want to say goodbye,”

Ford nods. 

“I’ll still text and stuff, but it’s different, in person. I’ll miss you. Being face to face.”

Sage’s face inches closer to Ford’s and Ford leans in to. They lock eyes, both of them seem to be asking if that’s what they want. Both of them are saying yes. Ford wouldn’t be able to say who kissed who, but what matters is that they’re kissing, and Ford’s hand rests on Sage’s back and she puts her hand on her back and it slowly comes up to tangle in her hair. And Sage lets out a soft moan and it feels like music in Ford’s ears All the cliches suddenly make sense as Sage slips her tongue into Ford’s mouth. And Ford closes her eyes. She wants this and she wants more. She’s push and Sage isn’t resisting, she falls back against her pillow and Ford props herself up on her elbows. There’s a strand of spit that connects their mouths and it’s gross and objectively not hot, but it feels like there’s a fire in her belly and her hands trace Sage’s arms. Her hands toy with the hem of Sage’s sweater and Sage nods furiously when Ford looks, seeking permission. She slips her hands under and feels the warmth of Sage’s smooth bare skin, she slides her hand up even further and feels the material of Sage’s bra. 

Sage sits up slightly, Ford is taken aback for a second, but Sage just whips off her sweater, and she’s only wearing a dark purple bra and she falls back against her pillows pulling Ford with her. Ford starts unbuttoning her blouse, Sage’s hands come to help and Ford decides that she wants to kiss Sage’s neck. She does and Sage lets out a gasp. Ford discards her blouse. Kissing down Sage’s neck and over the lace of her bra. She slips a finger under one of the straps and just looks. 

She kisses over the bra and then down Sage’s side over her stomach, reveling in the softness of her. Her hands rest on top of the button of Sage’s jeans. Sage is hot underneath of her and she looks at Ford like she’s begging her to press on.

“I’ve never done this before,” Ford says, out of breath. 

“That’s okay,” Sage says, “We have time.”

And god, do they ever use all of it. It’s four in the morning by the time Ford says she has to go. They kept falling asleep and waking up, seeing the other sleeping beside them and deciding to go for more. 

“Text me over the break,” Ford says. 

“Promise,” Sage answers and they kiss another time. 

It’s closed mouthed and chaste, which is almost laughable considering the list of sex acts they’ve just performed on each other could rival the ones found on the back of a bodice ripper novel. 

Ford likes it though.

She walks across campus, a little bit wobbly on her legs, kind of tired, but very, very satisfied. She feels a little bit lighter. 

She unlocks the front door with her key and tries to be as quiet as possible. But she hears noise, a groan, and then she sees Tango, rising from the couch, he shrugs off a blanket. 

“You’re back,” he says. 

“You’re on the couch,” she says. 

“Fell asleep,” he points at the TV, Netflix’s “Are you still watching” message is displayed. 

“It’s late,” Tango says. 

“Yeah,” Ford nods, and she can’t hide the grin on her face.

Tango looks at her with a halfway-to-knowing look on his face. 

“I just had sex with a girl,” Ford whispers, she’s smiling, she sounds excited. 

And Tango smiles too, he pats the couch next to him and she sits down. 

“Was it good?” Tango asks. 

“Yeah,” Ford says and she feels out of breath, “I… that’s what it was supposed to be the whole time. She’s so… she was so pretty and… hot,” Ford says, hands in front of her like she’s grasping for words. 

She hears the stairs creak behind them, turns and sees Whiskey in checked pajama pants and an SMH shirt. 

“I see someone finally walk of shamed home,” Whiskey says. 

Ford laughs, Whiskey and Tango along with her, “I am definitely, very very, very very… very. Gay,” she says. 

And they laugh together, Whiskey flops down on the couch and leans against her. 

They’re both warm, and after walking home in December at night, that’s exactly what she needs. This thing with Sage might work out and it might not. She doesn’t know a lot of things, but she takes comfort in the fact that she’s just learned a new one about herself, and she takes even more in the fact that Whiskey and Tango aren’t going anywhere.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, there it is. Ford is a disaster, and will continue to be. Also of all the chapters, this is the one that I think the song matches the least well too, but whatever. 
> 
> Yeah, being a lesbian is weird, especially when you have deep and platonic love for your male friends and you don't spend a lot of time with girls who might like other girls, so sometimes it takes a minute. Feedback and comments are greatly appreciated! This took me way longer than I thought it would lol


End file.
